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He moved his legs apart, feeling the cock harness strap that ran between his legs lift and divide his balls. A moment later he felt the straps of the ankle restraints bolted onto a slide rack on the floor tighten on his flesh. She added a second set of restraints to his calves just above the knees and tied them to rings in the floor parallel to the outside of his legs, leaving just a touch of slack. He didn't have long to wait to find out why.
The gears whirred, and the cable above him began to retract, taking his arms up higher and drawing his upper body into a straight, stretched line. He'd obeyed her orders and made sure he was back far enough from the ring in the floor that there was little slack in tether between his cock and the harness, so when she anchored his legs to the floor and began to raise him up, the line between cock and floor became even tighter. His knees left the floor a half inch, pressing against the knee restraints, and he grunted despite himself.
The switch locked him into position, and she came around and ran her hand over his scrotum and bound cock, testing the tension of the line between the harness and the floor. It was taut enough to cause him apprehension, but not painful. With his ankles spread and shackled to the floor behind him, his body suspended in the air by the ceiling tether, his calves bound and his cock tethered to the strap pulled taut to the eyebolt in the floor, he was counterweighted on all sides. Gravity would not twist or pull him in any direction that could injure him. However, the position itself was excruciating and left him vulnerable, and there was a knot of tension low in his gut that he had not experienced since his first time being trussed by a Mistress. He was also hard as steel and getting harder, his desperate lust and the emotions she was somehow driving in him giving him one of the most enormous hard-ons he'd ever had. In odd contrast, she was methodical, gentle in the way she touched him, her fingers brushing his naked body lightly as she passed him, fondling his shoulder, his throat. He tried to nip her fingers as she passed, but she just smiled at him and went back to her chair.
She sat down like a lady at tea, crossing one ankle over the other, folding her hands in her lap. She took a long moment studying him, erect and suffering.
"I know making you sit there and do nothing while I look at you may not do much for you," she observed. "Men aren't very psychological when it comes to stimulation. Suggest the erotic to a woman in a voice rough with passion, or on the written page, and she'll become wet. But a man needs visuals." She uncrossed her ankles, and inched up her skirt with a finger following the line of her thigh, tracing the garter. She put the middle finger of her other hand to her mouth, wetting it. He followed that finger as if it were the last crust of bread for a starving man. Her knees spread wider, displaying those soft pink cunt lips again. With barely a hesitation, she slid the wet finger deep inside herself, up to the last knuckle, and he heard the sucking sound of her eager pussy, soaked already, taking her in and craving more. Craving something he would kill to give to her.
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze still on him. "Now what are you thinking, Mac?"
He stared at that finger, wet his lips as it came out and went back in. "How much I want to fuck you."
"How crude, Mackenzie. Where's that polish? Your control? The charm you wield so easily?" Two of her other fingers got involved, started rubbing her clit in slow circles. Her hips lifted, accommodating her, starting to move in sinuous circles, building with her reaction.
"I think I might just keep doing this until I come. Would you like that?"
"No, Mistress."
"No?" She arched a brow. "You don't want me to feel pleasure?"
"I want to give it to you, Mistress." He bit back a groan as her finger came out, glistening with her juices. He could smell her strongly now, in his nose, in all his senses, coursing through him like the effects of an illegal street drug. Mac struggled to sum
mon a rational thought. "I can give you far more pleasure, Mistress. With any part of me you desire."
He'd rip someone limb from limb just to win the right to put his smallest finger inside her, feel that heat and silk clamp down on him. He gasped as the harness buckle bit into his cock, ruthlessly pinching the engorged flesh between the stiff strap and the metal.
"Mackenzie -" Her sharp eyes went from his face to his cock. "Ask."
"Let me make you come, Mistress."
Her pretty jaw flexed. "Stubborn son of a bitch. Ask."
He shook his head. His Mistress stood, withdrawing her hand from herself and straightening her skirt with a quick shimmy of her hips. She raised her fingers high, brought them to his eager mouth. He latched onto them without hesitation, drawing them in, sucking her taste off them and making sure he made it enjoyable for her too, taking care to slide his tongue smoothly along the line of her knuckles, the tender web of skin connecting her fingers, rather than slobbering over them like a Saint Bernard like he wanted to do.
"Ask," she said in precise, angry tones. "And I will let you make me come with your tongue, let you bury your face in my pussy and eat your fill."
As bribes went, it was the best he'd ever been offered, but there was more at stake than that, a wall he didn't dare go over. The pain was lessening the size of his erection. Not much with her scent so close, her taste in his mouth, but enough to give him some focus.
"Please, Mistress, let me bring you pleasure." He met her look, aware that his own was defiant, challenging, but there didn't seem to be anything else he could do. The fear was pumping too hard behind it. It was the last defense he had.
Violet moved across the room from him, to the wall. She chose a braided crop and threaded it through her fingers, her back to him. She put it down, chose a cat with metal tips. She shook it out, testing its weight on her arm, nodded to herself.
Mac waited, his breath clogging in his throat, thick with the fury of a cornered, dangerous animal and the lust of a powerful man. He wanted loose. He wanted to bend her over the chair, take her ass with hard thrusts that would have her screaming for mercy and more. He didn't want her beating him.
Violet turned, walked back to him. She left the cat on the chair, squatted, unsnapped the leash holding his cock tethered in its harness to the floor, giving him some relief. Then she moved around him, removed the ankle shackles, lowered the taut line holding his wrists above his head, loosened the cuffs on his calves.
"Free your hands."
If she was thinking of walking out on him again, she'd have been smarter to leave him bound. Knowing he wasn't thinking rationally, but unable to help the violent bent of his feelings, Mac nevertheless remembered to stay where he was, though he wanted to struggle to his feet and seize her. His cock ached like fire, screamed for release on a couple different levels. His back, shoulders and thigh muscles had hours of tension in them, and yet he was sure sinking into her body would make all of that go away.
She stepped away from him, in front of him, four steps past the chair. She kept her back to him and he watched, stunned, as she shrugged the clinging material off her shoulders. With the black wig in an upswept style, it exposed her nape, emphasizing the beauty of her bare upper torso, the sweeping line of her shoulders, arms and back. Her back was smooth and golden, the spine a shallow valley drawing his eyes down to the beginning rise of her buttocks, visible because she pushed the dress low on her hips. He saw that tiny mole on the inside of her shoulder blade.
"Mackenzie?" She tilted her head so he could see her profile just above her right shoulder.
"Y-yes, Mistress?" He cleared his throat. Why had he thought she was green? Because she didn't have much experience? He had forgotten the wisdom that all subs knew, that great Mistresses were born, not made, and the really great ones relied as much on intuition as training to do what needed to be done.
Most Mistresses had respected his boundaries, would have good-naturedly moved past the sticky point of his pride and gone onto something they both found pleasurable. Not this one. She wasn't here for recreation. She wanted to crawl into his soul, or rather make him crawl into hers. Hadn't she as much as told him that?
