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He inserted the mouthpiece of the air tube in between her teeth. "Bite down. Not too hard. You just need to hold it a moment. " He buckled the elastic band around her head. Her chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, he saw. He heard the rasping sound of air coming in and out of the tube.
It was an advanced level for anyone, not just a person who resisted loss of control to the degree she did. He didn't know what instinct was driving him to push her into such an extreme sensory deprivation session so quickly, except that he'd told her the truth.
That, perversely, the experience could help calm a nervous sub once she was immersed in the stillness of the water. However, if he didn't get her there soon, she might genuinely panic and his heart wouldn't hold out against her distress.
He also knew if he didn't start shaving her soon, change his focus, he was going to be eating her pussy until her breath became downright asthmatic, her teeth biting into the hard rubber of the tube like a rabid dog, her silken muscles rippling along his thrusting tongue. What he really wanted was to take his trousers down and drive into her, ignore the rules. He pressed the controls.
The upper part of the tablet began to sink into the floor, taking her body down, down. The water rose to her ears, the side of her face under the mask. He watched her muscles tighten in panic, then she was immersed. He forced himself to keep her going until her body was at a forty-five degree angle and about five inches of the tube was visible. The water wavered over her, creating a beautiful mermaid image before his eyes. Her lips pressed hard on the tube but he knew she'd ease up when she realized that the straps would hold it in place without her tiring her jaw.
When he pressed another control, the section beneath her calves began to descend, a separate jointed piece of the tablet. It gave him the ability to draw a tall stool into the shallow water in the channel below her feet, move between her spread legs to her knees and study the delectable pussy completely available to him. It also gave him a clear view of her sloped out beneath him. He turned on the audio system of the room and the soft notes of Claire de Lune began as he picked up his razor and the apple-scented skin gell he'd chosen. He hoped it suited her tastes, as much as her tea choice had suited his.
Chapter Eight
Silence. As the water caressed her lips, clasped around the tube, as it moved between the spaces of her fingers, she felt the silence descend. Where was he? He said his touch would be there. In this world, five seconds could become a lifetime. The panic was immediate, seizing up her throat. She needed his touch, needed it now. She'd never done this level of sensory deprivation with a submissive. While all good Masters and Mistresses provided pleasure to the sub, it was a balance; the desire of the sub for pain or submission balanced the Dominant's need to dominate, to test the levels of submission. Tyler's need was apparently for total raw vulnerability.
She wanted this to stop. Couldn't do this. Where was he?
He'd told her to focus on touch and what else? She strained against the bonds, all the cool rationality, the total control exercised by her as a Mistress fleeing before the power of the terrifying anxiety. Was he playing with her?
She realized then how much her subs had given her. She didn't think of herself as a coward but would she ever willingly have given up control as Brendan had done had she not met Tyler? Had she not had The Zone requirement, she corrected herself. But the correction was an evasion of the truth her mind had stated baldly. She would not have done this with any other Master.
Please touch me. God, now. I'm frightened.
Her breath expulsed on a near sob as he touched her thigh. Stroked. Drew a. . . He drew a heart. Once, twice and then again. Then wrote, one letter at a time, big unmistakable. Upon her flesh. B. . . R. . . E. . . A. . . T. . . H. . . E.
Breathe. That was what he had told her to do. Breathe.
Some of the panic receded. She took the deep breath and recovered enough to draw in the second one more slowly, then another. His thumbs were passing over her clit now, touching her hair. He was combing the short hair, being infinitely careful, making sure he did not snag her in any way. She wasn't in a tomb. It was a womb and he was caring for her. He was here. He said he wouldn't leave her. He promised.
But she found she still needed to feel his touch every second, her mind freezing up again in the several seconds it withdrew and then came back. Heat, shaving lotion being applied. Spread out on his palms, obviously warmed between them before he applied it upon her. His fingers spreading it over her mons, her labia and even under her, parting her upraised buttocks, the pussy hair that grew back in the area of the anus.
As he touched her in what should have been a functional manner, handling her pussy as if he had every right to groom it, the anxiety coil in her stomach was twisting, shifting. Changing. She realized her breath was becoming shallow now from arousal.
The moment she had the thought, he drew the heart again. She put it together, that it was a quick symbol to remind her to keep breathing deeply, simply. She should know all this. She should be totally in control of this situation. All of it, her emotions, her reactions. She'd been a Mistress forever. There were several other parts of her life where breathing, focusing on details in extreme circumstances and keeping one's head was crucial. She also ran a business, for heaven's sake. Why was this throwing her for such a loop?
Thought fled as his breath touched her. When she realized his lips were close to her cunt, her thigh muscles reacted like a drawn bow, straining outward, a futile effort because of her restraints. What was he doing to her?
He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, lower down, and licked her. A tiny bite of teeth. Another drawn heart, this time with his tongue.
Breathe in, breathe out. His hand rested on her cream-coated pussy, warning her before she felt the slick glide of a razor. When he shifted his hand so it was on her thigh, he inserted a thumb between her leg and her sex to steady his strokes. All she could think about was that thumb. He shifted it over her folds to hold them closed, increasing sensation as he navigated the razor down the side of the labia just above the tender pocket between thigh and hip. Her stomach muscles quivered. Trying to lick her lips, she licked the tube inside the mouthpiece. That made her think about tasting him.
Sucking in another breath, she quelled the absurd urge to nip and suckle the thing in her mouth. The oral craving rose in her so strong and immediate it brought to mind his hard cock and one of the most potent acts a submissive could perform for a male Dom.
Was this what being treated like a sub made even a Domme feel when she was subjected to it? Or was it just Tyler and the unique chemistry they seemed to have?
She wanted to examine it further but the pulsing demand beneath his fingertips was distracting her. She meditated, practiced yoga. She knew what it was to still everything in the mind but she'd never experienced this, a silence so complete that she only had one focus beyond her jumbled thoughts and that one focus was taking even those away.
She arched as his thumb shifted, bearing down again on the outer lips to more smoothly shave a straight line from the mons down into that area. As he did so, turning his hand, he slid his fore and middle fingers partly inside her. The thumb shifted to her clit. And though the water provided lubrication, she knew she was slick with heat for him.
God, how could she breathe through this? His fingers eased slowly deeper, the thumb pushing up, applying simple, inexorable pleasure. She felt the heavy pulse of blood in that area through the pressure of his finger. Lifting her hips because she couldn't help herself, she moved into the touch as much as her bonds would allow.
He was right. She unconsciously tried to turn her head, allow that part of her to thrash, but the forehead and neck strap kept her fast. She gasped through the tube, her hands clenching on the handles he'd told her to grip before he cuffed her wrists to the marble.
Tyler watched her, his mermaid, as she responded to his touch, her cunt muscles tightening on his fingers, wanting more. He understood the feeling painfully well. She arched, her ribs smooth ripples along her sides as she fought the restraints. Her lips were working behind the mouthpiece, biting down, if her tense jaw was any indication, displaying an oral demand his cock was throbbing to appease.
Not yet. Not yet. He employed some of the same deep breathing techniques he'd urged upon her, knowing the rewards for waiting. As a Mistress, she knew them, too, but he understood that she was discovering one of the amazing pleasures of submitting.
With nothing required of her but the Master's Will, inhibiting her desires outside the requirements of his commands was not necessary. He'd thought if he restrained her, deprived her of most of her sensory ability, she could fall into that never-ending playground of sensations and instead of thinking about the boundaries, she would run from playset to playset. He'd succeeded and Christ, she was killing him.
