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The first time she’d had him masturbate in front of her, he’d told her it didn’t feel right, seeking his pleasure while a Mistress watched. To answer that concern, she’d made him masturbate to climax. When she straddled his face afterward, pressing her cunt against his mouth and nose, rubbing herself there, she’d nearly drowned him with how wet his show had made her.
The lesson had made an impression, such that he shouldn’t have made the same misstep now. But it had been a difficult day, and he liked to lose himself in direct service to a Mistress. She’d give him a pass for his faulty memory, even as she emphatically reminded him of the lesson.
He was trying to stay still, but his hips were rocking in a shallow rhythm from the pull of the massager. She played with the different settings, prompting a lot of intriguing convulsive movements. More creative oaths.
Eventually she had his ass hitting the wall and the crosspieces of the St. Andrew’s. He’d lost control of his own body’s movements, the rhythm of sex taking over.
He wanted to fuck something, needed to fuck something. His face was rigid, teeth bared, eyes full of crazed, charged, rutting light. When she at last stopped the vibration, it took his body a few seconds to realize it, for him to stop himself.
She came and stood before him. Lifted a flat palm that saidStay still.
Two hundred pounds, six feet tall, a tiger wanting to leap on her, take her down. Yet when she leaned in and pressed her tight nipples in her thin bra against his bare chest, he went still. She put her lips on the side of his neck, letting her breath tease him before she bit his collar bone. Pressing her thighs against the massager, she started the vibration again.
“Fucking hell, Mistress…” he muttered, his hands flexing.
She opened the cuffs before she stepped back and gazed at him. He held that look, his dark blue eyes almost black. She pointed to the floor, lifting her arms out to her sides to tell him where she wanted his placed.
His eyes stayed on hers as if he was waiting for her to blink. She didn’t.
He dropped to one knee, then to the other. The massager pulsing over his cock caused him some coordination issues, and she stayed close in case his balance posed a problem. However, he managed to put himself onto the floor without assistance, stretching out on his back before her in a magnificent slow-motion display of careful movement.
Standing over him, she gazed her fill at his beautiful, aroused body, the quiver of his thighs and hips, responding involuntarily to the clutch of the toy.
She removed her blouse and skirt, letting the cloth whisper off her flesh, heated by his gaze. Then she placed her feet on either side of his torso, below his outstretched arms. When she squatted, her pussy was close enough he could dip his head and have his mouth on it.Be still.She mouthed it, then touched his lips so he’d know what part of his body she particularly meant.
She brought her cunt against his pressed lips and settled herself there, the sheer fabric of her panties between his mouth and her flesh. Then she turned up the vibration and squeeze ofthe toy, particularly the stimulation just below the head of his cock.
“Fuck…fuck…”
His hands opened and closed, became tight fists. She rubbed herself against his mouth, even as he tried to keep his lips closed and tight, inert as she’d ordered.
It took about eight seconds before the climax seized him, defeating his self-control. As his body bucked, his hands left the floor to clamp tight on her thighs and hips, so he didn’t throw her off him.
He bellowed against her damp flesh. Every movement, every hot breath, shuddered through her. She was so close, but she held back, loving his brutal energy, the power of all that sexual release flooding through her senses as he cried out.
As he finished, she didn’t ease back on the controls right away. She waited until the masturbator became overwhelming on his hyper-sensitive shaft. He had to endure that for her, the price of the orgasm she’d given him. He rocked and groaned, fighting his movements, trying to control them for her, working to earn her mercy.
She liked that. A Mistress knew the value of being a little cruel to get what they both wanted.
When she finally stopped the massager, relief suffused his features. She moved back and removed it with gentle fingers, giving him an intimate stroke before she set it aside. Then she stood and removed her panties, draping them over the toy before she knelt again.
His eyes followed her as she straddled his tattooed arm. Reaching behind her, she guided him to place his forearm against her buttocks, his palm against her lower back. Then she began to rub herself upon him, the firm biceps and triceps, the rounded part of his broad shoulder.
She painted her arousal over all the colors and images, worked herself against the hard ridges of bone and muscle, until the climax took her. Her hand was braced on his chest, the other by his head. As she rocked, her breasts wobbled above the lace edge of her bra.
While his avid gaze devoured her, he gripped her forearm with his other hand to help steady her. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back, savoring the final waves of pleasure, all the way to the last tiny quivering aftershock. His spread fingers pressed into her back.
When she was finally done, she let him help her move to straddle his waist, sit on his cock. Which should have been replete, but being Tiger, it was on its way to getting stiff again. She wiggled a little on it just for the pleasure of teasing him, but then, with a more serious feeling in her heart, she leaned forward to touch her lips to his.
His gaze, still filled with heat, held hers. He lifted a hand, pausing to confirm it was allowed before he touched her face, caressing her cheek and throat. As he ran his thumb over her lips, his face held quiet wonder.
Then he said the absolute right thing.
“That is a hell of a toy, Mistress. But coming in that will never be half as good as the privilege of being inside your cunt. Whether or not you ever let me come again.”
The aftermath was…unexpected.
Tiger couldn’t get it out of his head, her climaxing against the tattoo on his arm, all the intense messages that went with that. But he didn’t have to analyze anything right now. She adjusted to sit behind him, putting his head in her lap like she did at theclub. While she stroked his hair and shoulders, the planes of his face, he relaxed into her hold. He reached up and touched her face, gazing at it as he played with strands of her hair. She smiled at him, eyes and mouth soft.
