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He walked her over to the St. Andrews’ cross. The lips remained locked together. An amble from one side of the room to the other. Her heart palpitated with each backward step as he guided her towards his target. She flicked her tongue inside his mouth, and he pinched her bottom in reply. A dancer, she easily followed his lead and avoided stumbling. Her own hands, she kept to her sides, resisting the temptation to loop them around his neck. Access to his body required permission. It drove her crazy to be in close proximity and unable to respond.
She bumped into the wooden structure. She’d arrived at her destination and she risked rubbing a foot up and down his bare leg. He slapped it away and released her mouth, lips curving upwards with a smile.
“Babe, don’t be silly.”
She cocked her head to one side and licked her lips. “Master. I’m yours.”
Jason grabbed her wrists and pinned them up high, one on each of the upper struts. His warm mouth returned to consuming her lips, nipping her with his teeth. His naked body, sculptured and smooth, lunged forward. Coming to rest on her belly, his hard cock felt like a giant stone phallus. She wished he would let her sink down and envelope it, gorge herself on his taste and velvety texture.
She uttered a nonsensical sound into his mouth, a feverish noise of excitement and trepidation.
He broke off his oral exploration to tie her wrists to the cuffs on the cross. She wriggled her hips. A blatant statement of invitation, and he cuffed a thigh.
“Ow!”
The game continued. This time, she pressed her thighs together, denying him access. He clucked, shaking his head in mock dissatisfaction. Squatting down, he shoved her legs apart and strapped her ankles to the lower struts. He’d spread her wide, o
pened her up and completed her descent into total vulnerability. Her mouth went suddenly dry, palms clammy, and she felt cool air waft over her pussy lips.
She watched him hover. He stroked his cock, brazenly presenting his manhood to her. Being bound always made his cock look exceptionally large and her own mentality slipped into servitude. An easier act to accomplish since their cruise. The days when she fought her submission diminished in number, not that she thought of herself as more submissive in nature, simply consistent. She’d Jason to thank.
Her eyelids drooped and she rested her temple on her arm. In the lights, his bright hair shone. Broad shouldered and narrow about the waist, she admired the outcome of his daily workout regime.
He moved and she jolted out of her revelry. He started with his fingers, using nothing more than the tips, he caressed and tickled until she yelped. A tiny sadistic smile crept across his face and he switched to using his tongue. Again, he delighted in using the pointed end, like a serpent’s tongue, slithering down her belly, dipping into her navel, and edging closer to her swollen bud and wet pussy.
A whimper left her mouth. Please, please! She daren’t say the words out loud, he’d drag the torturous journey out longer.
Jason kissed her mound. “Babe, too slow for you?”
She rocked her hips from side to side as if to say no. She’d lied and she couldn’t hide it. Jason stood up, walked to the sideboard, and opened a drawer. A feather duster appeared and she groaned, not in pleasure, but disappointment. She detested it. An article purely for teasing and driving her to the edge. Tickled while restrained rated as painful in her books. She gave him an imploring look, her best puppy-eyed expression of supplication.
Jason chuckled. She’d once christened the expression “evil Dom laugh”. It didn’t help that when she’d told Jason, he considered it a worthy accolade.
“Shall I make you come with this?” He waved the duster across her flat stomach, kissing her skin.
“I…suppose….” She vacillated, uncertain if she should ask or refuse—did it make any difference?
“I know.” He grinned. “You want it a little mixed up, don’t you?”
Sometimes Gemma found his techniques more about the psychology of fucking than the actual physical act. If she had been unbound, she might have risked a nonchalant shrug, or even added a fearless “whatever”. Both actions would be lies, she fought to control her racing heartbeats. He went to the wall, and perused his collection of implements before selecting a riding crop. Her widening eyes followed him across the room, as he stood armed.
The crop landed on her inner thigh with a smarting slap, followed swiftly by a tickle of the duster in her slit. She tracked his movements, flinching as he came closer with the crop, and at the same time, her pussy clenched.
“This or that?” he murmured in a husky voice. “You don’t know what you want. Good job I decide, isn’t it? What do you want?”
“Your cock!” she shrieked as he tapped the crop on the other thigh.
The crop slithered up her side, following the contour of her figure. She tried to writhe, unable to because of the bindings. He continued his exploration, and she felt the soft leather slide over her hip, towards the exposed sex. “I know that.” He dropped the duster and held his cock. An upright, pulsating rod of desire, purple tipped and shining with the pre-cum. “You always want this, don’t you?”
Seeing its dimensions reminded her what made it grow in size—her. She baited him with her spread-eagled body. Her chest rose and fell, lifting her erect nipples. She smiled.
“What?” His eyes narrowed.
“You want my tits so much, don’t you, Sir?” she sniggered.
Her remark ended his little teasing play. She’d invited her sadist, and he set to work. His delight in having her breasts all to himself again was evident as he teased her poor tits with clamps, pegs, and pinwheels.
He done it all before, but it felt like years ago, not months.
