Page 65 of At Her Call

Trust me.

The words could mean her. They could mean himself. Whatever worked. He’d be staring at each of the words in turn, having time to think about them, as she shoved that plug into him. Until he couldn’t think any more.

She was behind him again, and had taken the lube off the table. When she replaced it and put the business side of the plug up against him, it was reassuringly slick. Gripping his hips, she parted his cheeks with her thumbs. She rubbed the head of the plug against his rim, adding more oil there to further tease those nerve endings. It sent a jump start cable jolt to his cock, already jutting hard and tight below the table edge. Because of his thighsbeing strapped close together, his balls were likely bulging out behind, between them.

She confirmed it, her gloved fingertips whispering over them, then giving them a little slap. It didn’t take much for that to hurt, not like that, and the sting startled him, but not enough to safeword. He wondered how it would feel when she was thrusting into him and pushing against them. A torment and pleasure both.Christ.

She was easing into his ass, taking her time, but it was a lot. She clasped his hips, adjusting him to help her with the angle. Then she was sliding in.

She tapped his back, a request for status. He had his right cheek to the table, staring at the left hand.Trust.He chose to respond in alphabet sign.OandK, left and right hands. He kept them that way until she stroked the middle of his back, showing approval that he’d chosen to do it that way.

Reaching beneath the table, she pushed a lubricated rubber cock ring over the head, all the way down to where she gripped his cock at the base. The ring had studs on the inside. And she didn’t have just one ring. She had three, which she put on his cock, evenly spaced.

She pulled out of his backside, slow. All the way out. Fuck. She was going to have to get all the way into there all over again. Her fingertips slid away, and he couldn’t see what she was doing, until she ran her tongue along his testicles. She teased that tender, stretched connection point, then went back down, playing over them, sucking one into her mouth. It wrenched a groan from him as his cock tried to stiffen further and those studs dug in.

Another tap for status. Another O and K. He shifted his head to the other side, glimpsed white-blond hair, a set mouth, the hint of dark eyes. The tank was so thin the color of her nippleshad been visible beneath its stretch when she circled the table. A nightmarish wet dream.

She eased in, came partway out, eased in again. Then she started to pick up the pace. Holding him steady, his knees on the stool. With his legs bound together, the feeling of her having all the control was increased. She’d let him free if he safeworded, but he was at her mercy otherwise.

He’d always had an ironclad opinion on a Mistress’s mercy.

You didn’t ask for it.

You earned it.

It was all sensation, discomfort, arousal, a climax building with nowhere to go. She leaned over him, thighs pressed flush against his, weighted pressure against his balls, and gripped his hair, tight enough it pulled against his scalp. She bit the back of his neck, his shoulder blade, and the muscle flexing below that.

Then she was pinching his ass with sharp nails as she kept hitting the right spot dead on with that plug. He was gasping, groaning, hands in tight fists. Her palms covered his forearms, fingers stretching out to tap and point toward the words.Trust. Me. Trust. Me.

“I do, Mistress. I do. But this…is hard. Tearing me open…”

But that was the goal. Not the physical discomfort, not the stress, not the punishment. She was kicking in the door to his head, to the anger and frustration, to things that were even older than what had happened today. A good Mistress knew how to do that, but until his hearing loss she’d stayed away from it, respecting that door because he hadn’t needed that incursion. She was crossing that line because she thought now he did.

She must be right, because he was letting her.

Her hand rested on his back, acknowledging his words. Another tap, tap. A pause. His hands once again formed OK.

She resumed. His balls were going to explode, and his cock was an aching, pulsing weight between his legs. He wasn’t a subwho begged, and she never asked that of him. But things were hurting in his gut and chest. He could handle the abuse to his ass and balls, his manacled cock. But if she made him cry, he’d just have to kill himself. After he killed her and hid her body so there were no witnesses.

His throat was aching. “Mistress…please. Don’t. Don’t.”

She laid down upon him again, and thank God, she’d removed the shirt, giving him the pleasure of round flesh and firm nipples. Reaching below, she slid off the cock rings and let them fall. Stroked her gloved fingertips along his length, up and down, and put her cheek on his shoulder. They both looked at that one word,Trust, as she kept working him.

“Please…please…” he was murmuring it, out of his head. When she shifted to plant a tender, significant kiss between his shoulder blades, above the tattoo he had on his back, the climax boiled out of his balls and jerked him hard against the table. She held on as he snarled, maybe even yelled at the strength of it. It was like she was riding him, the friction between their bodies adding to the intensity. Fuck, coming with his legs tied like that, it had him feeling like a worm jerking on a hook. A hook she had embedded in his ass.

When he at last came to a stop, she was moving her hand up and down his arm, over the tattoo, slow. She brought the glove to his mouth, and he understood. He gripped the finger ends with his teeth as she slipped her hand free of it, then removed it from his grasp, touching his mouth. As she moved her bare hand to his side, everything was so sensitive he shuddered at the contact. She scraped her nails over the gooseflesh.

At length, she pushed herself up, easing out of him. When she removed the harness, he watched her walk to the sink, gaze lingering on her naked back, the nip of her waist above the low ride of the pants. He wanted to put his hands there. The latex curved lovingly over her ass, shaped the cleft between. Shedropped the phallus into the sink, leaving the harness on the counter. She removed the other glove, the one on her dominant hand, and left it with the harness.

She’d brought his T-shirt with her. With her back to him, she put it on again, but left it unknotted and removed the latex from beneath it, exposing her legs. She did it efficiently, barely giving him a glimpse of what hid beneath the shirt. A reminder he wasn’t being rewarded. Her goal had been helping extract his head from where he’d shoved it up his ass.

But that meant he had another imperative, and when she came back to him, he asked for the privilege. “Let me serve you, Mistress,” he told her. “Please.”

Because she hadn’t climaxed, and had left him no option to hold back for her. For him, that, too, was its own kind of punishment, and she knew it.

Without answering, she undid the tie strap and rubbed his thighs to help his circulation. She had a hand on him as he pushed himself up. He swayed, damn it. Yeah, it might be because of the intense climax. It didn’t have to be his hearing. He had a Mistress to serve, if she’d let him. No time for babying himself.

She pulled a cushion off the seat of a chair and dropped it in front of the stool, gesturing him to kneel on it. When he complied, she made an up motion, telling him she didn’t want him sitting on his heels yet. Instead, she went behind him and looped the tie strap around his ankles. She ran it to his wrists, a standing hog tie. She positioned the buckle within reach of his fingers, so he could break it loose at any time. Then she slid onto the table, propping her feet on the stool before him. The T-shirt was long enough to reach her mid-thighs, continuing to deny him the view beneath. For now.

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