Authors: Joey W. Hill
mouth, the tangle of his
tongue with hers, the moisture
between their mouths. When
he lifted his head, she felt dazed,
staring into his eyes.
“Why won’t it work, Rachel?”
“I…I told you. I don’t…I can’t…”
“You can’t have an orgasm. And it’s
hard for you to get
wet.”
She nodded, tel ing herself she
wouldn’t humiliate herself
with more tears. And she couldn’t
lie, couldn’t pretend it
was early menopause. Despite being
naked and dripping
from the shower, as wel as
completely out of her element,
she had to strive for maturity here, to
face reality. Maybe he
could
get her wet between her legs,
but there was that hard
knot low in her stomach that would
remain there, a knot that
had been weathered by so much
disappointment and so
many salty tears there was nothing
that could untie it
anymore. And that knot stood in the
way of any type of
release.
“Al right then. Fair enough. You’ve
told me, now we’l do
things my way.”
“But I can stil … I have lubricant,
and anything you want…”
He didn’t move. “So if I use you like
a whore, al for my
own benefit, that’s al right?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Stung,
she tried to pul her
hands back, but of course his grip
was immovable.
“I think it’s time for you to stop
talking.” A gentle note re-
entered his voice, unexpected, as was
the hand that
cupped the back of her head, fingers
diving into her hair as
he changed the angle of his mouth.
Now he laid his lips
over one eye, which closed at his
approach. She felt his
tender caress there, a smal touch of
his tongue at the
corner, absorbing her tear. Then he
did it to the other side.
“Keep your eyes closed and I want
you to go back to your
breathing, only more in-depth this
time. Through the nose
for three seconds, hold three seconds,
out through the
mouth for three seconds. Focus only
on that, and I
command everything else. Do it,
Rachel.”
Even though the idea of anything
calming her down at
this point seemed incredible, she
knew it couldn’t do her
any harm. And maybe it would block
the flood of al those
other distressing thoughts his far-too-
sharp observation
had brought surging forth. She drew
in the first breath,
leaving her eyes closed.
When he drew his touch away, she
heard the briefcase
opening. “Keep them closed and keep
breathing. Three,
two, one…” He counted it off slow,
as she did during class.
He kept counting, so she focused, fol
owing him, wondering
what he was doing.
At the beginning of her classes, she
used
pranayama
,
the yoga breathing exercises, to stil
other external forces.
To help her students leave behind
their worries, focus only
on their practice and make the most
of it. She knew he was
likely using it for the same reason
here, helping her set her
fears aside to experience this. But as
she kept breathing,
she found he had other equal y
powerful ways of turning her
attention only to what was happening
in the here and now.
Putting a knee on the bed, he slid his
arms under her
knees, her back. He turned her, so her
head was partly off
the foot end of the mattress, and
guided her hands out to
either side of her. A padded cuff was
wrapped around one
wrist, and then tension was put on
that arm as he looped
some type of tether through the ring of
the cuff. She heard
the faint metal ic ring of contact with
the bedrail as he
secured the tether there.
Her lashes fluttered, but before she
could look, he slid an
eye mask on her face, a ribbon tie
securing it, his fingers
lingering at her hair line. She
shuddered. “Jon…”
“Keep breathing. Three, two, one…”
He restrained the other arm the same
way, then he was
moving down the bed. When he
cinched her ankles down,
he spread them wide. He knew
within an inch the limits of
her flexibility, so she was incredibly
vulnerable, her muscles
straining. That knot in her stomach
moved lower, burning.
“Since you can’t climax, I guess we
don’t have to worry
about this pretty comforter.” She
imagined him looking at
the Monet print pattern as he
continued in that mild tone.
“Though if you did climax on it,
gushed hard, it would
darken the pale pinks of Monet’s
flowers. The same color
your cunt looks now. You’re
glistening, Rachel.” When he
dipped his finger into her, she
mewled, twitching her ass
against the cover as he explored.
Then he was back near
her head, though he didn’t touch her.
He was shifting, doing
something, because she could feel his
movements on the
mattress. Then he answered her
curiosity.
“I’m looking at you, naked and
bound, and rubbing your
oil on my cock.”
She imagined those elegant fingers,
soaked with her
arousal, sliding along the broad head.
Her stomach
muscles contracted.
“Do you want to taste it, Rachel?”
“Yes.” She rasped it.
“You’re going to have to ask for it
the right way, aren’t
you?”
She’d told him she couldn’t. But he’d
known the blindfold
might make that barrier a little less
daunting. In that opaque
world, she could answer the
dangerous desire she’d
nursed. For once in her life, she
could not only speak the
words but mean them. Al those years,
she’d longed for the
one who would coax it from her, and
here he was. But he
wasn’t coaxing at al . He was
demanding and she couldn’t
deny him, because it was merely an
echo of the truth.
Her voice shook so hard, she could
barely get it out. “Y-
yes, M-master. Yes, Master. I want to
taste. Please.”
Having her head tilted over the end
of the bed increased
the sense of exposure and
vulnerability. It also put her in a
perfect position to service him with
her mouth. Since she
was tied down, he had ful control of
how powerful y he
thrust, how deep.
When he put his cock against her
parted lips, a growl of
pure hunger came from her throat. He
gave her just the
head, pressing it against the flat of
her tongue to let her curl
around him, taste and swirl along that
firm, heated skin.
She tasted him as wel as herself, and
knew the tip of his
organ had already been wet, his
arousal joining her slippery
honey.
Though she hadn’t done this in quite a
while, she’d once
been good at it. Since most men
enjoyed oral sex, this was
a part of her subservience Cole had
embraced, at least at
first. She didn’t want to mix the
memories though. She
banished those images and instead
imagined what Jon
looked like standing over her. The
columns of his thighs
pressing against the crown of her
head, the heavy testicles
brushing her forehead. His intimate,
musky smel made her
nostrils flare, trying to take in even
more of the erotic scent.
Her mouth wanted more as wel .
For a blissful moment, he obliged,
sinking even deeper.
She relaxed her throat to
accommodate him. As she’d
seen in the shower, he was an
impressive size and girth,
and she sucked on him, wanting
more, more and more.
When he let out a quiet oath, she
moaned against him, and
his hands closed over her breasts.
Arching up to him when
his thumbs flicked over the nipples,
she made a plea
against his cock, squirming against
her restraints.
“You have gorgeous breasts, Rachel,
al heavy and ripe.
They’d look beautiful in rope
bondage and clamps. The
curves al swol en, your nipples stiff.
When I took off the
clamps and ropes, you’d cry out from
the surge of blood,
the pain. But you’d love it too, and
I’d put my mouth on your
nipples and soothe them, suckle on
them until you’d be
begging me to bite them, to give them
more pain. But there
are so many parts of you I want to
pleasure, I might need
some help.”
She was making helpless noises
against his heated
shaft. God, he was getting bigger. She
wanted him to shoot
down her throat, wanted him to pul
out and spurt over the
nipples he was taunting now. But he
had other ways he
wanted to torment her.
“Peter loves breasts. While I took
care of other things,
he’d suckle away al the pain, yet
make them even stiffer,
needier. Your cunt would get even
wetter, but Lucas would
take care of that. He’s spent a great
deal of time studying
the way to pleasure a woman with his
mouth. He’d thrust his
tongue deep into your pussy, do
things that would make you
mindless. My slave in every way,
lost in every desire you’ve
ever had.”
Whether or not he was merely
painting pictures for her
fantasies, her body was responding.
She remembered
their photos, and now she thought of
Lucas, the handsome
and athletic CFO, with his mouth
between her legs. The
brawny Peter, that
Don’t Tread on
Me
tattoo on his biceps
rippling as he cupped her breasts in
both large hands. Jon,
her Master, cal ing the shots.
What did it say about her, that she
was imagining it? She
should be appal ed. Both of those
men were married.
What
are you, some kind of slut?
Cole’s
voice, an unwelcome
intrusion. She stiffened under Jon’s
touch. Was she one of
those cautionary tales, the sex addict
who got so lost in her
pathetic needs that al of a sudden she
was servicing total
strangers at her boyfriend’s behest?
Had her experience at
Club More taught her nothing?
Though Jon knew the right
words, was more civilized about it,
was it any different?
Yes, yes it is.
Her soul wailed at her, begging her not to
fuck this up with her head games.
For
a moment, pretend it
is, because you’ve never felt
anything like this.
“You’re thinking too much again.” He
withdrew, and the
loss of that heat and strain on her
mouth was enough to
cause a noise of petulant protest. “It’s
time to take this up a
notch. I wanted to make sure you
could handle something
the size of my cock and fucking hel ,
but you can. You’ve got
a devil-blessed mouth, Rachel.”
Before she could think of what to say
to that, since a
polite thank you seemed
inappropriate, a broad head was
nudging at her lips again. Only this
time, it wasn’t Jon. It
was a thick rubber phal us, it had to
be, but it felt…real. Like
a hard cock with the velvet give of
flesh over it. In fact, she
could swear the organ was warm.
She started in surprise
as he took the thick shaft in slow but
deep, giving her that
tantalizing terror of having the wide
head pushed right
against the back of her throat. He
stopped there and
secured it with straps around her skul
, cinching it in until
they bit against the corners of her
mouth.
“When I final y take that off, you’l
have strap marks there
for about an hour. Whenever you look
in the mirror, you’l be
reminded of your submission to me.”
The gag
was
warm, pulsing like a
man’s organ, and it
had some kind of scent that reminded
her of Jon’s cock, his
pre-cum. It wasn’t anything like the
lifeless, rigid sex toys
she’d tried. Having it strapped in her
mouth like this made
her feel even more helpless…and
wetter.
He slid his hip on the bed, and from
the prop of his thigh
against hers, he was facing toward
her spread legs. She
wished she could see him there, his
tempting ass pressed
into her covers, the curve of his back
and flex of muscle as