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Those words hit hard. Benson’s jaw clenched, but he shook his head, knowing she couldn’t see him.
Grabbing her hips, he forced her back to her knees at the very edge of the ottoman. Standing on the ground, and with her kneeling on low piece of furniture, her ass was at the perfect height.
His thumbs spread her cheeks, and he could look down and see her pretty pussy all open and on display for him. Benson’s balls twitched and knew this was going to be embarrassingly short.
He lined up his dick with one hand, listened for her moan of pleasure as he breached her ass. Then he rammed into her, going balls deep in one thrust.
He groaned. Mal moaned.
Ten thrusts were all he got before the orgasm ripped through him. He’d gone hard and fast, and was huffing as the orgasm faded.
Benson stroked her waist and back before pulling out. “That was so good.”
“Thank you for using me, Sir.”
Her words made him think about what was next, and his post-nut glow faded.
As he gently freed her pussy from the clamps massaging her labia, Benson reminded himself that he had no right to feel the way he did.
Mal wasn’t his.
He left the faux piercing on her clit. The letter B charm—B for Benson—dangling against her labia.
CHAPTER 12
Mal was so fucking horny she could barely see straight.
Her whole body felt soft and plump, her skin smooth and sensitive. Her sex throbbed, and she was highly aware of each of the parts of her pussy. Between her legs, Mal’s labia were tender from being pinched, clamped and whipped. Her clit ached, the faux piercing adding an unfamiliar pressure.
Public exposure had seemed like a gimme item. Barely worth mentioning. Instead, it had left her feeling that perfect mix of submissive and aroused. Obedient and needy.
She’d heard a rumor that some letters had taken their play outside the club in order to fulfill certain items. Mal knew Benson wouldn’t ever propose that. If he had, she would have said no.
Thanks to that, she’d known public exposure would take place within the privacy of the club. For many people, maybe most people, public exposure would be one of the more extreme items on the list. Mal was past that point in her submissive journey. She was regularly naked, on display, or otherwise exposed at Las Palmas.
The rectal speculum had been new—she’d never had one used on her before—and the sensation was odd and uncomfortable. Not being able to see, only hear, the people who stopped to look, had been another, if not new, certainly noteworthy, element to the scene.
On her knees, the most private part of her body on display, aching, but submissively calm, Mal had physically and mentally prepared to settle in and embrace being put on display.
The intense emotional impact had taken her by surprise.
And that emotional impact had nothing to do with the toys in her and on her, or the strangers who stopped to look.
Benson.
It had been all about Benson.
The way he sat beside her, one leg drawn up, his back resting against the post. It had been casual and intimate.
Even more intimate was when he touched her. Gentle moments with his hand on her head, or neck. His fingers toying reassuringly with her nipple rings.
That quiet intimacy had rocked her. Walls she’d erected came crashing down every time he looked over at her and smiled.
She’d felt so close to him she almost orgasmed when he fucked her. She usually enjoyed anal sex, but never enough to come. Before that scene, she’d never even been close.
Still emotionally and mentally reeling, Mal slipped on the fishnet dress he handed her.
“What are you thinking, Mal?”
