AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She knew the girl to be an extremely capable staff member who often earned extra money as a hired submissive for those Masters and Mistresses who preferred a trained, known quantity in The Zone walls. She looked distinctly flustered tonight.
"Did you handle Tyler's undressing?"
"I did, Mistress. A woman to undress him and two men to restrain him, just as you specified. "
"Did you enjoy that?"
Her response, though soft, was immediate. "I did, Mistress. Thank you. "
"Why did you like it so much? You see things like this every night. "
"Not a Master like Tyler. Not being bound, stripped. " She drew an unsteady breath, let out a nervous chuckle. "With respect, Mistress, there isn't a woman here tonight who wouldn't want to be in your shoes. " She slipped out.
Marguerite shook her head and settled in a chair. Curling her cold hand in the warm folds of the cloak, she let one leg emerge, cross over the other. She pressed the play button.
She'd thought about having one of the male staff do the undressing but realized that as a petty desire to irritate Tyler and discarded it. Then put it in anyway. Then took it out.
In the end, she'd opted for a woman for the very reason she'd almost decided against it. When she focused in on hands on that muscular body on the tape, she wanted to absorb herself enough in it to imagine it was her. Stacey didn't know it but Marguerite would have given a lot to be in her shoes. Disrobing a submissive, unbuttoning shirt cuffs, sliding trousers down over a well-defined backside, seeing what type of underwear or socks they chose, those were intimacies she could not risk close-up, hands-on. But she could experience them this way.
He stood in the center of the observatory, her favorite Zone room. The lighting could be dimmed so only a glittering of stars were thrown out for light along the walls of the chamber. The lights rotated as if the bound sub were the center of a moving galaxy. The platform on which he was anchored could also be rotated, all of which helped disorient him while publicly displaying him from every angle. A spotlight would illuminate him but the Mistress could come and go out of the starlit shadows, all of her preparations and tools set up out of sight, increasing the trepidation.
She'd had him brought in blindfolded because she suspected he would look for the camera and gaze into it, guessing she might do this. She saw immediately that he'd dressed for her. Black slacks perfectly pressed, a pristine white shirt, silver cufflinks.
Black and white, which set off that raven and silver hair. The lights deepened the ebony shadow of his jawline that no amount of shaving could completely eliminate.
Stacey moved out of that darkness. Marguerite had commanded that no one was to speak to him unless necessary. He was simply to obey their physical nudges to move as they needed him to move. No distractions, nothing but what was in his head to keep him occupied. No attempts at banter to regain some control of the situation. If attempted, he was to be gagged. Since he had received a copy of the instructions, she wondered what his reaction had been to that.
When his nostrils flared as Stacey came near, Marguerite felt the jolt to her toes. He recognized her scent. She'd left some of her tea tree oill infused with lavender for Stacey to mist on her skin. To give him a moment of confusion and to see if he was that sensually aware.
Stacey's fingers slipped the buttons down the front of his shirt, lifted his hands to undo the cuffs. She fumbled a little but then she took a closer hold of the shirt at the waistband of his slacks to free it, her thumbs brushing the well-defined lower abdomen just above the belt line.
Marguerite had seen his upper body during their partial weekend together but she'd been too often distracted by other factors to fully enjoy a perusal of it. She didn't have to be distracted now. The curves of the pectorals, the sectioned stomach muscles were sculpted with the perfect imperfection of one of his bronze statues.
Stacey glanced up at his face. He hadn't said a word but a slight smile played on his mouth. Not a smirk but a reassurance for Stacey. He knew the hands touching him were that of a submissive. The son of a bitch could tell the difference. Marguerite shook her head. Stacey was enjoying herself now, reaching up to push the shirt off his shoulders, her palms following the skin as the shirt peeled away and his arms drew back to let her get the shirt down them, the solid strength of his biceps and rounded points of his shoulders gleaming in the lighting. As she moved away to go hang up the shirt, the two men moved into the light. Three sets of manacles were lowered from the ceiling. They lifted Tyler's well-defined arms to lock the cuffs at the wrists, just above the elbows and the final set right between the swell of the biceps and shoulders. The slack was drawn up to suspend the arms perpendicular from his body, a pose that would limit his upper tor
so movement far more than just drawing his arms over his head. The pose of DaVinci's perfect Vitruvian man.
Pressing the zoom button, she went in on the chest area as she always did to closely examine every possible angle, to determine if there was an unacceptable level of discomfort to the restraint. There was a second screen and she turned it on now, for it showed a live view of her subject waiting for her. She compared, picked up the headset.
"Tony?"
"Yes, Mistress Marguerite? Always a pleasure to hear your lovely voice. "
"You and Eli did an excellent job. Would you please raise the biceps restraints an inch? I want a little more strain on the shoulders. "
"Right away, Mistress. "
"And please start him rotating so the audience may enjoy the view. " Tyler's head had turned at Tony's voice, his head cocking. She wondered if he could hear her voice coming through Tony's earpiece.
She turned her attention back to the replay. No open cuts to concern herself with.
She saw the scars she'd remembered from his house, knew there might be more vulnerable joints there and made a mental note to take care in those areas. Then she zoomed out, watched Stacey loosen his belt, free the tongue, dropping the pants lower on his hips, revealing that V line of muscle on either side of his stomach disappearing beneath the waistband.
She wasn't breathing as Stacey unhooked the trousers and took down the zipper.
That was why she preferred particularly in this case to view this in privacy. He wore dark gray underwear beneath the slacks, the snug stretch boxer shorts that hugged the ass and crotch, the upper part of the thighs. Stacey had the trousers halfway down his legs before she remembered the shoes. She tapped on one dress shoe with a finger, a silent direction to toe the shoes off. The trousers were loose at the upper part of his thighs, enhancing the artistic display of grace and beauty in his upper body as he complied.
Marguerite was throbbing. Throbbing. She didn't throb, didn't have this uncontrolled pulsing in her cunt keening for fulfillment when she looked at her subs.
