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It took him a moment to obey, his expression heavy and dangerous, hungry. Well, she was hungry, too.
When he finally obeyed, she leaned forward and began to smear the gnoche on his cock. The tip, the sides, the area of his clean-shaven balls. He had obeyed her to the letter, his scrotum and pubic area clean except for one neatly trimmed triangle just above his cock.
He groaned as she put methodical care into it, going back to the plate to get more of the gnoche until his cock was slathered in it. Then she rose, took up her cloth napkin, and blindfolded him with it. The muscles in his shoulders twitched, nervous and impatient, but he did not resist her or disobey, keeping his hands cupping his ass.
"A slave should never see his Mistress with her head below his, even when her actions are to serve her own pleasure," she said. "That's why I wouldn't let you look down at me at our picnic, made you close your eyes." She went to one knee and took his chocolate-coated cock deep into her mouth.
It took all she had not to bite down on it, take in his taste, mix the pleasure and decadence of the dessert with the decadence of enjoying him. She licked, consumed the chocolate cream, tasted his cream in the mix, took him firmly in her hand at the base. His breath rasped hard as he struggled to obey her mandate and not move as she cleaned every impressive inch of him, her eyes noting every flex of his powerful thighs, the ripple of reaction across his abdomen, the tightening of his balls under the caress of her fingers. Her own reaction was sliding her thighs wetly against one another, and she made noises of enjoyment in the back of her throat, telling him what he could not see, how much she wanted him, was ravenous for him in fact, to the point that she wanted to keep him with her always, never let him further from her than a short cock leash would allow. Now she no longer wondered why some Doms were fond of keeping their subs in The Zone on a collar and leash, to reinforce the servitude and the bond.
"I want you," she muttered, and he growled in response, a primal response that she saw him struggle to take to civilized English.
"Sugar, I'm more than ready for you."
She rose, took off his blindfold and found his eyes blazing in response. "I'm protected from pregnancy," she said, her own voice thick with desire. "Will you...I don't want anything between us."
"I trust you. And you can trust me, sugar. With anything."
His voice was ragged with male hunger and something else, something that roused her heart into her throat, and mixed sweet emotion with overpowering lust.
"My Mistress honors me," he said, low, urgent. "Let me serve you. I need you, Violet."
She swallowed, nodded. Undid the buttons again, and slid the dress off her shoulders. His eyes followed its slide to her feet, and she stood before him, clad in nothing but her skin and her equal need for him.
"You can move your hands," she whispered, and moved forward.
He caught her at the waist, lifted her effortlessly over him. Violet put her hands to his shoulders, gripped, dug in as he slowly, perfectly lowered her onto him, his silver eyes locking with hers as he took her down, inch by blissful inch. Her thighs trembled as they spread over his on the descent, making the sensation of his invasion that much more excruciatingly pleasurable. His fingers tightened on her waist and she savored that touch almost as much, every sensation he was offering her, including his hot breath on her neck.
She came to rest on him, just a blink after she wondered, as she had the first time, if she could take all of him, and knowing she would, no matter what. She had to have all of him deep inside of her, her cunt closed around him like a possessive fist, stro
king him, working him. She raised her legs and he helped her, his hands sliding under her thighs so she was at the right angle, and the position seated him impossibly deeper so she cried out in reaction, digging her fingers into his back as his hands moved back to her waist just above her hips. His eyes met hers, full of dangerous intent that shivered over her skin.
"Hang on, sugar," he advised.
He lifted her and brought her down, hard, letting her feel the full force of his primal need. She screamed as her pussy convulsed around him, but he was drawing her up again, making her feel the rush of all that hot hard length against her wet inner folds, and she knew she never again would settle for a lover who did not have the incredible upper body strength Mac possessed. In a mere handful of days, there were many other "never agains" that Mackenzie Nighthorse had injected into her life.
He kept his gaze on her face, not doing anything but watching her desire grow and reflecting it in his own expression. That made her even more helpless and hot, his total absorption in building her response by controlling the rate of rise and descent on his cock.
"Come for me, Mistress," he said, rough. "Come like you've never come for anyone else."
That wasn't going to be difficult, considering the sensation he was coaxing from her now was more intense than anything she'd ever experienced. But he was begging her to lose control, lose control for him.
"I already have," she whispered. Her body arched as he plunged her onto him again, then lifted her high so she felt the ridge of that broad head at the lips of her opening, then down again, like the rush of a roller coaster, the exhilarating pitch, a well-oiled machine working at the perfect speed to achieve explosive combustion. He didn't let her use any of her own strength, kept her moving in sync with the press and lift of his large hands at her waist. He would not let her hips thrust and move at the ferocious rate she might have chosen. He was giving her a slow, torturous build, a climax that would shatter her, leave her spent and weak in his arms, and she...she just wanted. She was all want now, a creation of formless, overwhelming desire. The shuddering reached through her, a ripple that quickly grew to a tidal wave shooting out from all directions from the well of her subconscious. She called out his name, part fear, part wonder, as the orgasm slammed down on her.
He was there, making her ride him still, keeping her at a pace that drew it out even longer, and the flashes behind her lids were like watching a never-ending ribbon of stained glass shatter before the power of a blinding sun. He increased the pace, brought her down hard on him now, and bringing his hips into it, so all she felt was that thud of impact, over and over, merging with her heartbeat, pulling everything loose in her. She shrieked as he leaned forward, caught one quivering breast in his teeth, bit down on the nipple and suckled hard, sliding his hands around her waist and hips now, seating him in her firmly and deep, changing the angle so he was rubbing against that incredible spot, giving the orgasm she thought was on its descent a new power that snatched her up and roared her over another pinnacle. She screamed with the pleasurable agony of it, only able to move in incremental amounts on his hard length, still pulsing, unspent within her. She milked him with her convulsing muscles, tugged on his hair, dug her nails in and used her teeth on his neck, just below his ear. It was excruciating to move upon him now, every motion like touching the most sensitive of harps, her body making plaintive notes for him, wanting something from him to give the song its meaning.
"Mistress," he growled. "May I come for you?"
She was enough of a Mistress that she waited a full minute as he kept up the rhythm, and his breath grew clogged and desperate, their gazes holding , sweat slick on both of their bodies.
"Mackenzie," she whispered. "On my command. This pussy is yours and it demands your seed."
She tightened her muscles on him and worked him in those tiny movements. One, two, three...
"Obey your Mistress, Mackenzie. Come for me. Now."
Though the stimulus of everything else could do it, she knew that it was her words that pulled him over, more than her head, mouth or pussy did. He stiffened in shock, his hands digging into her waist in a moment of delicious, bruising lack of control, and then his hips were lifting her off the chair as he drove her up, making her hold on as he bucked beneath her, groaning and then growling, shouting his release, unable to maintain control any longer before the power of the whispered command, proof of her hold over him. Violet felt his warm juices spurt into her, and she cried out at the renewed sensation, held his head close, his rough jaw scraping her breasts as he clung to her, rammed into her until the last drop was gone. Until their desires were, for the moment, sated.
When she regained some sense of her surroundings, everything around her looked hazy, surreal. She had to blink to bring it all back into focus. She was wrapped around him, arms and legs tight around his body, her head resting on his shoulder, lips pressed to that round curve that led to the hard biceps. He held her close, his arms all the way around her so his fingertips were at her ribs, just below her breasts, putting her in a cocoon of his strength, his heart thundering against hers.
