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She would have felt overwhelmed except he was her boat on these waves. What if he'd told the Mistress he wanted her lion to fuck Julie from behind? What would his expression have said to her, while he kept her chin tipped up to stare at him and that feminine body and thick rubber cock took her over the edge?
Two days ago she'd believed she was a voyeur only. That she had no interest in public sex. They'd been in this room less than twenty minutes and her previous boundaries meant nothing. Only what he wanted.
No. It was because everything he wanted was something she wanted. He was reading her cues and responding to them, just as Logan had said. But knowing it was her response as much as his commands directing her only made it more unsettling.
As they moved forward, other things added to that shaky feeling. At the impact and flogging area, Julie saw Logan and Madison. He'd bound her to a cross and was showing several groups his single tail techniques. He'd shed the coat and had the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up.
"Logan's always in demand to teach at these things," Des said in her ear. "He's patient about it, though I expect that's why he likes playing at home alone with Madison the best."
Though Julie was sure Madison agreed with that, her friend didn't look like this spicy public twist on their relationship was bothering her, probably because she still had Logan's full attention. Even as he was teaching, he kept returning to Madison, stroking her, reassuring her, commanding her focus with sudden little flicks from the whip, a sexy, masterful gesture that made Julie's stomach flip flop too.
Madison's glazed expression and the marks already on her said he'd started this some minutes before. He'd removed Madison's dress, leaving her in crimson bra and thong only. When Logan started throwing the whip again, there was a swift continuous fluidity to it. As he struck her buttocks, between the shoulder blades, along the back, the upper thighs, she was jerking in her bonds and making cries that Julie couldn't hear over the music and crowd noise, but could see from the working of her throat and parted lips.
Logan caught the fall of the whip and strode back to her, dropping his head to kiss the red netting of marks between her shoulder blades. His hand slipped between her body and the cross. His own body moved in rhythm with hers, rubbing himself against her backside as he worked his fingers inside her panties. His lips were against her ear.
As her view changed, Julie realized Des had maneuvered her to where she could see Madison's feverish eyes and Logan's concentrated expression, the movement of his lips. She couldn't hear the words, but she didn't need to do so. Everything he was doing showed he was in control, and he was reinforcing that, stimulating her with words to that effect. Julie imagined what those words might be.
"I'm doing what I want to you because I'm your Master. You're hot and wet, because that's the way I want you. You'll let me fuck you, whip you, restrain you, and you'll come for me with the same obedience and desire, because you get lost in this, in serving your Master..."
Whatever he actually said had Madison nodding, her lips stretching back in a plea. Julie remembered her first experience with Des, when it was just them on the stage. He'd painted her such a vision of a full audience she'd almost felt stage fright. Until he'd murmured it's just us.
She understood now what Des meant about the anonymity of chaos. Logan might be aware of his audience, those he was teaching, but a very important part of him was in an isolation chamber built through the strokes of a whip, the give and take of power, the love between him and his wife.
Madison came as Des's grip on Julie's hips became bruising. Julie leaned into him, breath shallow and every muscle taut, nerves thrumming as Madison's body bucked between the cross and Logan's protective larger frame. As she came down, he was kissing her shoulder, her throat, and she pressed her face into his palm.
Des moved them forward again. In the fire play area, a dramatic flogging with a cat o' nine caught her attention. The tips of the flogger had streaks of blue and gold flame as a Mistress wielded it on the back of her female sub. Lit wands were being rolled over naked supplicants stretched out on padded tables. The fire masters followed the wands with quick, intimate strokes of the male and female bodies they were using, reminding her of Tony and Charlotte.
The scent of cand
le wax touched her nose as she saw two men working on another man, creating a random design on his back, buttocks and legs with shades of purple and green candle drippings.
As she'd seen Consent coming together, she'd had a taste of this, how every expression of BDSM could be magnified with color, sound, taste, texture. Here she didn't have to detach and see it through the eyes of a managing director. However, since that was so much a part of her, she couldn't help making a few mental tweaks on the blocking of the Consent showings next week, and on Lila's upcoming production. She told Des some of those suggestions as his head bent attentively to her, his lips curving with amusement, probably at her multi-tasking.
When they were back at the dance floor, her Master decided to pull her away from practical thoughts. Des guided her into an impromptu waltz, palm at her waist, other hand firmly clasping hers. She followed his steps, the turns, and he found a path through the dancers that made her feel as if she were gliding. On the far side, he turned her, bringing her back against his body so she could rub against him, making sure she concentrated on his groin area. Though the sporran was in a frustratingly inconvenient spot, she made sure he felt the urgent press of her own body.
"Tease," he muttered.
She was and wasn't. Teasing implied playfulness, some type of planned, intended provocation. She was too mindless for any of that. She wanted him to know how all this was making her feel. Being dressed like this, out with him, as his.
His eyes burned into hers as she faced him. They were still, the music winding around them, the whole world moving. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, working his way to her wrist, around the outside of her hand, over each finger, playing with them with tongue, lips and teeth. Just his attention on that one part of her body, his grip hard on her wrist, made her sway, her other hand clutching his waist.
"Desmond." She breathed his name. She didn't say his full name often, but she wanted to say it now. She wondered if he had a middle name, and she asked him, in that same whisper. It was too loud, so she thought he wouldn't hear her, but somehow he did.
He held her close to answer. "Desmond Arthurius Hayes."
Humor penetrated her haze of lust, reflected in the twinkle of his brown eyes. In the mix of shadows and light, the irises were molasses-colored with flecks of gold. "Betty named me after her uncle. He died a month before I arrived. She said I had his smile."
So his mother had refused to even give him a name. The thought gripped Julie with a fierce anger and protectiveness that, combined with her arousal, almost made her dizzy. Curving her fingers over his hold on her, she lifted onto her toes to press a kiss, soft and urgent at once, against his lips. She may not have wanted you, but I do. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything.
The kiss said all that and more. His expression flickered as if he heard the message, his jaw flexing and eyes briefly flashing with emotions just as strong.
Taking her elbow, he drew them to a section of wall flanking the rigging area. The green light spotlighted the different forms being tied on naked flesh, the intense concentration of the riggers. There were different colored ropes and clips. Some of the Doms used frames to suspend their subjects. Others used hooks dropped from the ceiling beams. Others worked entirely on mats on the floor or on chairs or against poles.
The lighting allowed a lot of shadows in the corners. Des maneuvered her into one, so the only thing in her vision was him, with some ambient glimpses of bound and suspended subs twisting in the background. He slid his fingers under her skirt and she grabbed his shoulders as he pushed past her barely-there thong and thrust two fingers into her soaked cunt.
"Just what I thought," he said softly. "Wet enough to satisfy a parched throat. You want to come, love."
She nodded and he thrust a little deeper. "Wasn't a question. Beg for it, in that sexy, pleading voice you have when you're hot and wet."
