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Something like pain crossed her face for just a moment before it was gone and she was the Ice Queen once again.
"You've asked a great deal of me, Brendan. Sshhh. Just let this happen. Open up. " He obeyed and she inserted it. "Bite down. You'll hold that cock in your mouth through this last one because I won't have you going through your tongue. " His eyes looked down, ashamed of his weakness. "No, you've nothing to feel guilty about.
You've given me a great deal tonight. " When she turned, Tyler saw the faint gleam on her abdomen from Brendan's perspiration. For some reason, where nothing else had, seeing that dampness made his loins stir with territorial need.
"She's being more intimate with him. " Lisbeth put a name to what his fogged brain could not. "I've never seen her interact to this level with a sub before. " Jeremy had the last brand handle in his grip but she gestured to him to hold it in the fire a bit longer. Instead, she came back behind Brendan. Out of his line of sight, she picked up a strap-on cock as big as what was currently protecting his tongue and stretching his lips. She ran the straps around her hips, between her legs, her hands smoothing, molding her curves as she did so, testing the fit of the crotch strap with one finger to make sure it wasn't pinching her labia. The caressing motion made several of the audience groan in reaction. Tyler shifted, crossing his leg back the other way while Lisbeth hid a smile.
Then she stepped forward at last, removed the plug and slid her strapped-on cock into the greased opening. She eased in, her thighs pressing against his, leaning over him, her body arched over the branded area, breasts hanging loose, wobbling with her movements.
Jesus Christ. Tyler was hard as a rock. He wanted to put his hands on either side of that slender rib cage to lift her onto him, impale her inch by inch on his rigid cock, which felt as enormous and stiff as what she was taking to the hilt into Brendan now.
Brendan's breath rasped around the gag as she seated herself home and began to stroke him, in and out, her hands gripping his buttocks, spreading them, thumbs playing around the rim, nails digging in. Brendan's face conveyed the intensity of it, the agony of the pull near the burn wound warring with the incredible pleasure she was causing him. Reaching down, she wrapped a fist loosely around his organ. Coming away with some of his cream, she brought it to her lips.
Tyler was on his feet before he realized it. Up to the railing as others gave way before him. As if she knew, her gaze rose, met his. Putting the fingers in her mouth, she sucked. Let them slide out, down. Using her damp fingers, she wet her nipple, played with it as she rocked in and out of Brendan, whose breath was beginning to rasp with the same rhythm. As Tyler's burning gaze fastened on her fingers, the nipple elongated, tightened. She jerked her attention from him, back to Brendan.
"Mistress. . . " It was a muffled cry around the gag but Brendan's distress was clear.
"Come for me, Brendan," she said, her voice even, cool, caressing, as if the raw moment had never happened. "I want to hear you this time. " His body stiffened and she gave a quick nod to Jeremy. Never breaking her rhythmic thrusts in and out of Brendan's backside, she took the handle of the brand.
Lifting it above her head, her lower body changed its pattern, undulating in the S-movements of a belly dancer. She swept her gaze over the crowd above her, ignoring Tyler this time. Slowly she brought the iron down, pressing it to Brendan's skin.
He screamed, a scream of torment and pleasure mixed. Like an animal, without understanding of what he was experiencing, if it was pleasure or pain, or beyond comprehension of either. His cock began to spurt, his orgasm sweeping over him, drowning him in all the mixed sensations.
Still thrusting, she handed the brand back to Jeremy. Loosening her hair from the ponytail so waves of white silk cascaded down her bac
k, she dipped her head like a beautiful, coquettish mare. The strands rippled over the raw area. Tyler knew the touch of silk would be like the scrape of razors against skin throbbing from the simple touch of the air. Brendan bucked, the muscles rippling along his back, his thighs, his shoulders arched as he kept spurting, groaning, crying her name.
"Mistress. Mistress. . . "
And then Tyler heard it taken up, echoed, whispered among the faithful clustered around the expanse of glass.
Mistress. Mistress. An acknowledgement of her absolute Dominance, her ability to command total capitulation from the soul of another. A remarkable gift that had been offered by a sub whose body she likely would never touch again. Maybe never even exchange a greeting with him, for subs were not supposed to address Masters or Mistresses unless they were addressed first.
She pulled out slowly at last, twisting, bending at the waist so her hair rippled down his back, over the brands, over his buttocks and thighs. When she straightened, tossed it back, she had her eyes closed. When she opened them, she stared straight at Tyler.
The look in her eyes said it all. This was her swan song here. She was snubbing her nose at him and The Zone requirement, leaving them the memory of a Mistress who was a force of nature to herself. A Goddess laughing at man's pitiful attempts to teach her what she already knew, possibly had created herself. The message was clear.
Fuck you.
His jaw tight, Tyler turned to find Lisbeth looking at him peculiarly.
"What?"
"I think I'm losing my mind. "
"And why is that?"
She tapped her manicured nails on the side table. "I believe I just saw one of our strongest Mistresses bratting for one of our most powerful Masters, throwing down a gauntlet and daring him to do something about it. And him standing there looking at her as if he was going to pick it up, turn her over his knee and use it on her. What's going on, Tyler?"
Tyler turned back to the glass floor. "You're losing your mind," he said.
Or I'm losing mine.
But Lisbeth's words suggested another theory to him, despite his moment of frustration.
Perhaps Marguerite was throwing what she knew in his face, in a desperate attempt to cover what she didn't. What she knew she should face but perhaps could not. Maybe he had pushed too hard at Tea Leaves. Maybe he should have chosen a different way to approach it. And maybe he could choose a different way.
Chapter Four
