After a time he rose, unhooked the back fastener of her bra and reached beneath the loosened cups to grip one of her breasts, tease it as she stared at him with pleading eyes, her mouth filled with that gag. He'd wrapped it in a cloth to absorb the saliva, but he traced her stretched lips with a finger. Taking his attention back to her breasts, he clasped the left one and spilled several drops of the hot coffee on it.
She squealed against the gag, undulating against her bonds. He did it again, then did it to the other one. "I should cover your tits in wax one night," he observed. "They'd be gorgeous, vanilla-scented wax melted over them. Then I'd come over them, over your stomach, your pretty pussy. I'd clean you up myself. Look at those gorgeous, pleading eyes of yours. You want mercy but you don't want it, too, don't you, sweet slave?"
She nodded, spoke the words even if they weren't intelligible. He would understand them, would require them. "Yes, Master. Ohhh. . . ."
He turned the vibrator to a stronger setting, and now her head thrashed this way and that, her throat raw from crying out in frustrated pleasure. He unhooked the bra straps, removed the garment entirely. Standing back, he watched the way her breasts quivered, the nipples jutting out. He took another sip of his coffee.
He hadn't told her she had to look down again, so in this position, staring hungrily at him, she had an impression of what was behind him. Lots of people, gathered and watching. But it was so vague, no specific features. She was trapped in a painting, detached from her audience, a wavering shield behind Dale, the only thing she cared to have in focus.
He stepped forward and turned the wand on the low setting, thank God. Squatting, he withdrew several coils of nylon rope from his bag. She sensed the stirring of the crowd. They liked watching him do this, and who could blame them? Being the subject of it was mesmerizing.
Whereas the switching, the wand, all of that had been high powered, volatile, what he did now slowed everything else, even as things inside her curled up in a concentrated constant arousal.
He wrapped her upper body, her shoulders. Crisscrossing over her sternum, he slowly constricted her breasts in the hold of the half-inch nylon. Her nipples began to tingle, that sense of hampered circulation. That feeling spread throughout the curves and slid lower, like syrup over the edge of a pancake, pooling in her loins. Her hips moved in slight motions against the vibrator now, her head tipped back against the pole. Her lips pressed against the gag as she swallowed. To have her body be tied up in such an excruciatingly incremental way, to watch his hands move over her skin, to see the intent focus of his eyes on what he was doing . . . she wanted to do those demonstrations with him. She wouldn't care who his audience was, because to her, there was just him, his hands, the way he was making her feel.
"Beautiful." He stepped back, and directed her gaze to the mirrored wall across from her. He'd wrapped her breasts tightly enough that the swelling was noticeable, the nipples and areolae distended and dark. When he brushed his knuckles over a curve, the nerves responded like chimes touched by a breeze. He didn't stop there. He did a diamond pattern down her abdomen and tied it off before commencing a leg wrap. He started at her ankles and wrapped her to her upper thighs, rendering her almost completely immobile. Now only her pussy wasn't covered by rope, still exposed to his whim on that vibrator.
She was making little noises, her tongue taking kitten licks at the gag, her eyes following his every movement. She wailed against the gag when he reached between her legs and turned the wand back onto high.
Forced orgasm was an apt term for it. He'd noticed her slight, flirty movements against the vibrator and had taken away that ability with the ropes. Now she experienced what it was like to be driven to a climax with no ability to move, no mercy from the pummeling of the vibration. It was excruciating and unforgettable. She shrieked and shrieked against the gag, knowing she couldn't take any more. She begged, pleaded, asked for mercy once more, and at the same time was forever lost in the avid pleasure in his steady gaze, the tension of his powerful body, the impressive erection she wanted back inside her.
As the climax ebbed, it was an Inquisition torture, having that rapid vibration against her spasming clit. Proving he wasn't a complete sadist, he turned it off, and she sagged against her bonds in relief.
Thank you, Master. Thank you.
She was mumbling it against the gag. From his tender look, he understood. He removed her gag and must have read her needy expression, for he immediately put his mouth over hers. He licked her dry lips, teasing her tongue, giving her his own saliva before he offered her the bottle of water. He held it to her lips, cupping the back of her neck.
"How are you, sweet girl?"
"I want . . . I need . . . please fuck me, Master. Please. I feel . . . empty."
She was exhausted physically, but never had an emotional need felt so large, so imperative inside her. She absolutely had to have him inside her or her heart might shatter.
He nodded. Unwrapping her legs, he freed her from the pole. He left the breast harness in place and swung her up in his arms, because she literally had no strength. He took her to the last piece of equipment in this section of the room. It was an I-frame bolted to the floor. It already had cuffs and a functional collar so he put her on hands and knees and cuffed her wrists, knees and ankles to the frame. An upright pole at one intersect of the I-frame held the collar. He wrapped it around her throat, keeping her head up and her facing forward.
She'd seen Masters and Mistresses put their subs here and then pull over the fucking machine to pump a dildo into their submissives while others watched, but Dale didn't do that. He gave her what she fervently needed. Kneeling behind her, he once more opened his jeans. The erection he pushed against her soaking wet cunt was even larger than before, telling her how her reactions had affected him. Her climaxes had also made her tight as a virgin, such that she made a soft noise of distress as he stretched her. But he took his time, sliding his knuckles down her spine, caressing her hips with his big hands. Then he stopped, only halfway lodged inside her.
"Beg me again, girl."
"Please, Master." Tears were in her eyes. "Please. I love you. Please."
She could barely form the words, but that was all he needed. He slid in slow and deep, easy. She felt the stretch, the demand, but she felt the power of his gentleness as well. He pulled back, pushed back in. From his size, she expected the easy rhythm he set was an effort to maintain, but he'd made it clear, hadn't he? His first priority was always caring for her, and she knew that was what he was doing, aware of how sensitive everything was at this point.
She didn't care about climaxing; this wasn't about that. She just needed to know her connection to him was there, unbreakable. He was inside her, in all ways. She wanted others to notice he was inside her without a condom, proving the bond between them.
The man's control was phenomenal, as always. He took a while to come, drawing it out, making the experience so deeply pleasurable to her that she was moaning with every stroke, far beyond the base physical response of a climax. This was the pleasuring of her heart and soul. She would have gripped him tighter if she had any strength left, but she didn't. He'd attached a padded upright bar to the middle of the I and adjusted it beneath her lower abdomen and hips to support her. That, the pole holding her head up, and the sure grip of his hands, were the only things keeping her upright.
When he started moving faster at last, he still kept the pace even, steady. She heard the rasp of his breath, wished he'd put her at an angle she could see him in one of the mirrors. Maybe later . . . at home. She wanted him on top of her, all that strength caging her, his hands tender on her face, fingers digging into her hair. Her legs would be spread by his body lying between them, and his cock would be sunk deep into her. She wanted to hold him like that all night, let him lie upon her, as unrealistic as that was. The man was two hundred pounds of muscle. But she felt the need to be crushed, held, surrounded, fused together in such a way.
As he climaxed
at last, she let out a blissful cry, lifting her hips to take all of him, to show her desire and willingness to be taken by her Master, no matter her soreness or exhaustion. He'd gripped her hair there at the end in the way she loved, tugging on her scalp as he worked himself against her, pelvis striking her abused flesh. Tonight he would lie her down on their bed, massage her with his wonderful hands. He would care for her, punish her, need her, love her.
She now understood to the very depths of her being why it had been wrong for her to come here alone, to try and explain it to the others. She couldn't define or explain such a thing, any more than she could have made them understand why she'd embraced being Roy's Mistress with joy. They thought she wasn't being true to her nature, but she'd been as true to it then as she was tonight.
Love was like that.
TWENTY
He retrieved her bra from their small stack of items. After he removed the rope harness, he put it back on her, adjusting her breasts in the cups, then he released her from the frame. He dressed her himself, threading her hands into the sleeve holes of her dress and straightening the seams. He guided her to step back into the thong with gentle hands, caressing and stroking her like a cherished possession, one that had pleased him greatly. She basked in that glow, even as she didn't think she had the energy to do anything else. When he picked up their bag of belongings, he took her out to the lounge area with a secure arm around her waist. She leaned against him drunkenly, and he encouraged her to do so.
"You're still in the zone, girl. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of you."
Two different sides of the same wonderful coin. Harsh and demanding, punishing and strong, matched with cosseting and protective, spinning a cocoon around her. He took a seat on one of the sofas and started to guide her down next to him on the cushions. He would put her under the shelter of his arm, let her lean against him.
Here at last, she wanted something different, though she didn't think it was different from what he wanted. Instead of following the pressure of his hand, she sank to her knees on the floor. She wanted to sit at her Master's feet, lean against his knee. It was the prosthesis side, and she put her head on his knee where the socket and flesh met, pressing her lips there.
"Stubborn girl." But his voice was thick. She'd moved him. He made her adjust so he could put a cushion under her and a blanket around her shoulders, but he let her stay where she was. There she rested, his hand stroking her hair as she simply floated.
People came and went, people who knew him, complimenting him on the scene, asking questions. Master Craftsman, the name they'd given him. He was a master of his craft. Her Master. She thought again about doing those demonstrations with him. She liked the idea of becoming known as his sub, the only one associated with him.
A pair of boots stopped in front of him, a pair she recognized, since she'd admired them the first time Sheila had worn them at the club. She didn't feel anything other than mild interest in that. None of her earlier trepidation remained. In this setting, in this state, she belonged to Dale utterly. Only his approval or disapproval mattered.
"Master D."
The Domme had used his actual honorific, rather than the nickname he'd accepted so good-naturedly. It suggested she intended to address him formally, not the appropriate moment for "MC." Dale said nothing, and from the shift of his boots, the thrum of tension she felt through his leg, Athena knew exactly what kind of look Sheila was getting.
Or maybe not.
When she peeked at him beneath her lashes, she saw his gaze was more than forbidding. It was cold, almost dangerous. While she knew he wouldn't harm Sheila, she wasn't sure if his demeanor would convince anyone of that.
Sheila cleared her throat. "I wanted to apologize. I acted inappropriately toward your submissive, and insulted both you and her."
"Yes, you did. You hurt her deeply. She considered you a friend."
That was her SEAL, not beating around the bush, stating what others, even herself, might imply with the roundabout etiquette of Southern courtesy. But by doing so, he took away any of the bullshit associated with such awkward conversations and cut to the chase. Athena knew she wasn't supposed to speak, yet his fingers tightened on her hair, anticipating her automatic compulsion to smooth things over. It was a clear message that she didn't have his permission to talk. He was her Master, and this was his matter to handle.
"I'm sorry about that, Athena. I--" Sheila stopped. "I'd like to tell her that directly, Master D, if you'll allow me to make amends to you both."
There was a weighted pause, then Dale's grip eased, giving Athena a reassuring caress. "I think she'd like that. Athena, you may speak to Mistress Sheila."
Athena lifted her head as Sheila squatted before her so they were eye to eye. A Mistress clad in impressive regalia of soft leather, a single tail coiled in her gloved hand, and a dazed sub in thin dress and blanket.
"I am sorry, Athena. I didn't get it. Not until I saw you tonight, and then it made so much sense, thinking about the way you were a Mistress to Roy. Amy said it that night, didn't she? Granted, in kind of an obnoxious manner, and I expect she's going to apologize to you, too, but I guess neither one of us was paying attention to the right things. I saw the connections tonight. It was the same language, in a different way. I admit that I don't get that side of the language"--a smile touched her mouth--"but it was really, horribly wrong of me to treat you that way. I hope you'll forgive me for being such a total bitch."
There was a vulnerability to her expression now, one that Athena couldn't help but answer. She reached out without thought, closed her hand on Sheila's.
"I love those boots even more, seeing them at this level."
The words came out throaty and rough. She was pretty sure she was going to have no voice tomorrow, and imagined having to tell Ellen and her staff she had laryngitis. "All's forgiven. Thank you for apologizing to my Master."
Sheila touched her face in answer, then she rose. She gave Dale a nod and moved on, the matter settled. The relationship between them would be different now. It had been in Sheila's light touch on her face, the glance at Dale to ensure it was okay. The way she looked down at Athena as she rose showed she now saw her as a submissive. It would give things between them a different shape, but it was an okay change.
"I didn't give you permission to touch the Mistress, Athena," Dale reminded her.
"No Master. I'm sorry."
He grunted. "If you get a future urge to touch another woman, I want you to let me know immediately. And in great detail."
She smiled against his leg, tightening her fingers on the socket. "Yes, Master."
Jimmy brought Dale two drinks and, at his nod, he also squatted, offering hers. "The soda's full octane tonight, not diet," he said. "Your Master says you need the sugar. After that session, I agree."
Whereas Sheila's apology had been a simple balm for the wound created, the acceptance on Jimmy's face stung Athena's eyes with tears. The good kind. She took the drink, though her hand was still shaking. Jimmy wrapped his around it, steadying her, and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, too," he said. "I should have been a better friend that night. Guess I always kind of harbored hopes that we might have a session together. I forgot the most important deal of a place like this is accepting one another as we are. Even if the face of that changes, the heart of it doesn't."
When he was hailed from the bar, he gave her another nod and smile, then returned to his post. She was thirsty, but she realized she couldn't bring the cup to her lips. Her hand was trembling too badly. She needn't have worried. Her Master leaned forward, his large hand ensconcing hers, guiding the cup to her mouth. "There you go. Easy sips."
"He touched me, I didn't touch him," she mumbled, in case he was going to chastise her for that. Those blue-green eyes twinkled at her.
"Yes, I noticed that. I'll have to have a talk with Jimmy. I'm particular about men touching my sub. Especially a man who has such an obvious interest in her."
"Jimm
y? He . . ." At Dale's ironic look, she realized there might be some truth to it. In the end, Dale had been right. All of their reactions had had more to do with them, rather than a reflection on herself. It didn't matter now. Everything was clearer, even if she was so tired she wasn't sure she could stand. But she did have the energy to do one thing. She looked up into his face. "Master, may I touch you?"
At his nod, she put her hand on his face, staring at him. She knew subspace could make one loopy and overly emotional like this, but this whole scenario had confirmed a lot of things she hadn't known for certain about the two of them. She was so glad Dale had insisted on doing this, and that she'd had the courage to follow through. It gave her quiet pride, and utter faith in their future. She traced his cheekbone, the firm lips, his hard jaw. When he captured her wrist, kissed her palm, she closed her eyes.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" She wanted to be sure.
"Try to keep me away."
--
He didn't take her right home, though. He took her to a quiet place on the riverfront, bundling her up in a car coat he had so she'd be warm on the bench where they sat, watching the lights reflect in the lapping water. He also brought a cushion from the truck and made her sit on that, a kindness she appreciated.
"When we get home, I'm going to give you a full massage and put that balm on every sore spot," he promised, kissing her brow. She laid her head on his shoulder.
"So they'll heal up and you can give me new spots."
"Absolutely." His lips curved against her. "You were magnificent tonight. It was watching you get so lost in it that changed their minds."
"You took me there. I've never felt so . . . unencumbered. There was nothing in my mind but you, and this feeling of crazy peace, as odd as that sounds. Even in the midst of the pain."
"You gave me everything, held on to nothing. You trusted me fully, Athena. You let go."
She automatically started to put her hand on his chest, but then stopped herself. He caught her fingers and pressed her palm to his heated flesh, a heat she could feel even through his shirt. "You can touch me how you like, girl. Say whatever you want. I like hearing your voice. Especially when it's raspy because of how much you screamed for me tonight."