Ice Queen (16 page)

“Stay where you are.” He picked up a towel and began to dry her, starting at her feet and working up, patting her thighs, her smooth, silky cunt. He took her hand, laid it there. “Do you like the way that feels?”

She did, because he had done it and because it obviously gave him pleasure. Her fingers began to inch away but he caught them, held them on herself. “How often do you touch yourself, Marguerite?”

“I don’t.”

“A toy, then.”

She shook her head.

“You never pleasure yourself alone? Not with a toy or your fingers?” She could answer the second question truthfully, so she shook her head.

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His eyes crinkled with humor but there was something more serious there. “If I had a cunt that beautiful, I’d touch it all the time.”

“Well.” She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I suppose that might drive away my customer base.”

“So it might. But you might get some new customers.” Her gaze flitted down, rested on the very prominent cock pressing against his jeans.

“You can touch me, Marguerite.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, reaching out to rub her palm over the solid heat of him. When his hand became a fist in her hair, she heard him exhale sharply.

“I want my cock in that hot, wet mouth of yours, Marguerite.” She wanted that, too. What’s more, she wanted to be on her knees doing it. She sat up, swinging her legs to the side away from him, her world spinning both figuratively and in reality as the disorientation of her previous position descended on her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

“Easy,” he said. “Easy now.”

None of this was easy. She’d been here less than a handful of hours and her emotions felt battered. Her body was not nearly sated, though she’d had more orgasms in this short time than she’d had in weeks.

“Come on.” When he threaded her arms into a satin robe, the silken fabric brushed her clamped nipples, making her pussy moisten further with need. Would this new level of wanting he’d unleashed in her ever stop?

He guided her into an adjoining bedroom that was even larger than the bathroom.

Decorated like a queen’s sanctum, it had a canopy bed so high it required a velvet-cushioned set of stairs for it. A set of comfortable chairs were arranged next to a fainting couch. The arched floor-to-ceiling windows with their tapestry hangings gave the impression of a royal’s chambers.

This was obviously where he spent his nights with his submissives. She was sure that the mahogany lingerie chest and dresser held a wealth of sensual aids to make those nights memorable ones for the woman in question. It didn’t please her. She balked at the door.

“This isn’t your room.”

“No. This is our room. The room I share with a guest who honors me enough to let me share it with her.”

She wanted to pull away, back into the bathroom and stay there, not bring her skin into contact with things other women who had pleasured him had touched.

But this was training. This was not supposed to be personal. She wasn’t his lover or girlfriend. She was having such difficulty holding on to rationality, this was one thing she could and would stay reasonable about. She stepped into the room, knowing her posture was too stiff. “All right.”

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He studied her a long moment before speaking again. “Do you sleep on your stomach?”

She nodded. The king-sized bed, with comforter and pillows, looked like the most comfortable of nests. He probably shared it with women every other night.

“I’ll give you five minutes in the bathroom.” He opened the front of her robe, removed the nipple clamps, causing her to sway as he massaged her. “We’ll put these on in the morning.”

When she returned, soft lamp light filtered through the room and she noticed the fragrance of fresh flowers. A bowl of cuttings from the ginger plants was on the nightstand. Her legs were trembling as she crossed the room to him.

“Up you go.” Apparently noticing, he took her hand to guide her up the steps onto the bed. She curled her bare toes into the velvet cushioning. Before she lay down, he stopped her, slipped the robe off her shoulders. When he settled her on her stomach, his hands glided along her back, the curves of her buttocks. She closed her eyes, then immediately opened them as she felt a soft touch at her wrist. Snapping a fleece-lined cuff there, he threaded the tether attached to it through the bedrails and out the other side of spindles farther down the bed. When he secured the other wrist with a matching cuff, she could bend her arms or straighten them a modest amount but not enough to free them.

“Tyler…”

His hands efficiently arranged her legs, spreading them, restraining them in the same types of cuffs, only these he drew taut so she was helplessly exposed again. He further raised her trepidation by slipping a soft blindfold over her eyes.

Tyler turned on the heating element in the pillow topper so she’d be warm without covers and then trailed his fingers down the slope of her spine, down the crevice of her buttocks, probing her where so many emotional secrets were held. He brushed a hand over her lips under the blindfold, knowing the lack of sight, just like in the tub, would increase the sensitivity of her mouth.

“No kissing,” she managed.

“Not unless you beg me,” he agreed in a husky tone.

He put a knee on the end of the bed and Marguerite felt the mattress depress under his weight. Had a moment to wonder what he was doing.

Oh, God. His mouth settled over her newly shaved pussy, his nose tickling in between the smooth cleft of her buttocks as he began to lick her cunt, tiny incremental touches of his tongue, his breath hot on her flesh, teeth nipping.

Time began to have no meaning. When she was in the bathroom, she’d told herself that she could and would withhold the next orgasm he tried to wring out of her. But he didn’t rush, seeming to enjoy having her pussy available to him, teasing it to raging heat then easing back, keeping her jerking and gasping with the tiny kisses and explorations of his far too clever tongue. Her buttocks writhed against his jaw as she tried to press down, get away from the inexorable demand. He simply scooped his 103

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hands under her thighs, lifted her up against her restraints and easily held her struggling hips, using her movement against her, creating more friction. His tongue slid down her clit with the lingering touch of a boy enjoying a creamsicle on a hot day. One savory lick at a time, a little sucking to keep the cream from dripping off the bottom.

Then, giving in to temptation, a whole covering of his mouth over the treat, teeth nipping at the edges, tongue swirling.

As she squirmed, her sensitized nipples rubbed against the bed. She couldn’t keep doing this. There was no way… How could he be drawing out of her what no sub could? Pleasure was a measured response, more intensely felt if severely restrained, allowing almost a spiritual clarity in denial. This was its opposite but somehow it was the same, the confusing chaos of sensation and color taking her far past rational thought to a place where thought and even spiritual enlightenment were not necessary. It was the childlike joy and wonder of Eden, simply felt, accepted. Only she couldn’t accept this. She began to fight the bonds uselessly, pulling against the iron headboard, trying harder to break free of his grasp.

His response was to lift her higher, the full several inches the tether allowed, letting her feel the restriction of the bonds more keenly. His one hand came under her, manipulating her pussy with devilishly knowledgeable fingers while his mouth went between her cheeks, tracing her rim, unleashing an incredible euphoria of
feeling
, everything from terror to ecstasy.

And so it went on. It was the most merciless punishment she’d ever witnessed as a Mistress. The clock on the nightstand ticked on and on as he brought her up to a pinnacle with a mouth and tongue that never seemed to tire of eating out her pussy, of playing with her anus, of making her ass and quivering thighs tender with short bites that she suspected were leaving light marks on her skin. Again and again she almost came, but he’d pull back. He brought a bucket of ice to the bed. At times he would clamp a handful of it down on her nearly climaxing clit, numbing the reaction, drawing it back. One, two, three…seven times. On the seventh time, tears were running down her face from the frustration, her body all fire. She was coming no matter what, damn him. He couldn’t take away the choice. But then she gasped as his fingers opened her and he began to gently insert round balls of ice in her cunt. Two, three of them. And then, though she writhed and screamed, he did the same to her anus. Putting the ice balls in his mouth first to suck off the potentially rough outer coating, he made them clear and slick before he inserted them, the cold instantly burning. When he finally put his hot mouth over her pussy, heat and cold warred at cross purposes.

She couldn’t do anything. Every touch brought forth a cry from her lips. She was beyond the ability to form words which was a blessing, because she would have begged without shame for the climax he was holding just above her head, daring her to ask for it. And she understood that was the purpose, with the clarity that such incredible torture was bringing to her.

He’d told her he would teach her about the nature of a submissive but he was also teaching her how to be submissive to
him
. That wasn’t a newsflash to her, but to take 104

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her rushing down a slippery slope to it so quickly… She couldn’t resist at this moment, couldn’t even think. All she wanted was to come, to have him make her come. Every wiggle made the ice melting in her body drive her higher, wilder with no relief. He let her thrash now, caught between unbelievable discomfort and pleasure at once, the cold searing her, demanding her compliance.

She’d said no sex. She didn’t care if he broke the rule, she just needed the craven want to stop. Oh God, how could something hurt so much and feel so good? Her cunt aching from cold, screaming for his heat, she wanted his mouth even deeper.

Then she heard him unfasten his jeans, the zipper coming down. He straddled her hips, his thighs pressing on either side of her.

The wet tip of his cock trailed down one quivering buttock then the other, then up the crease in the center, teasing her entrance where water from the melting ice was dampening her, trickling down to the folds of her pussy to join the water pooling beneath her there.

He shifted, moved and she felt him applying a lubricant along the inside of her cheeks. Not the rectum itself but the inside crescents of her buttocks. As she grasped what he was about, he took hold of her ass and started to rub his long, very thick length up and down between them, holding her tight around his pumping cock, increasing the incredible sensation of the ice inside her opening. She moaned, guttural noises she couldn’t stop as he used her body as a Master would to achieve his pleasure. While denying her because of her disobedience, her resistance. She was a Mistress, damn it. It was hard for her even to pretend to do this. He knew that. So why was he asking so much of her? And why did she want so much to give him what he asked?

It had been nearly ninety minutes since he’d laid her down here. She felt like her entire body had shattered into individual atoms of screaming need. She’d become a swarm, a cloud of energy with no real substance or form.

How many of her subs had cursed her and begged in the same fervent thought, the way she was cursing him and begging now?

His breath grew harsh in his throat, the clutch of his fingers becoming nearly bruising. Catching hold of her hair, he swept it to her right along the pillow, baring her nape. Letting go of her ass to brace himself with an arm on the mattress, he began to come, his thighs tightening against the outside of her hips.

As he spurted onto her, she felt the hot seed coat her back, the sensitive inside of her shoulder blades, spilling over her scars. Something broke in the shadows of her soul as she understood what he was doing. Marking her as his. Sending a message to the deepest part of her psyche, the part that thought she would never be safe, never be able to elevate herself above the dark level of her nightmares no matter how high she climbed. He was here, guarding the passageways. He knew where she was, could find her anywhere. He knew her.

Her body quivered, wanting so much to accept it, yet overwhelmed by it.

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“Please.” She managed it, though fear clutched at the word as it emerged from her raw throat. “Please let me come.”

The tip of his cock trailed down her ass and then his head was between her legs, his hands on her thighs, forcing them more widely apart. Lifting her as his tongue thrust in, he brought heat among the remains of the ice, stroked her passageway and brought it back to warm life. The five o’clock shadow of his beard scraped her clit, her thighs.

Finally, he let her go over.

The orgasm grabbed her body in hands as ruthlessly pleasurable as his. Her abused throat could not stop what went beyond a scream and into the realm of a tearing wound. Body thrashing wildly, hands pulling at her bonds, she sank her teeth into the mattress. She thrust against his mouth over and over until her body simply gave out, the muscles no longer able to do anything but twitch. Small, painful whimpers came from her throat as the pleasure kept whirling through her.

He kept his mouth working her long after she was done and had become so sensitive she was jerking in convulsions against his touch. It told her more adamantly than words that he was making sure he’d driven the lesson home.

Whatever reality existed for her when Sunday came around, he’d taught her in less than an evening that he had the upper hand. That he could Master her.

* * * * *

At last he rose, stood by the bed. Vaguely she registered the fact that he was pulling a towel from the dresser drawer.

“Ty…” She stopped, cleared the residual lust out of her voice that made it sound so husky and intimate. “Tyler?”

“Yes, baby?” He knelt next to the bed so she could see his face, the stern set of his mouth, the gentle look in his eyes. No one could be as gentle as a powerful man. Or as ruthless. He was both sides of that coin, cloaking one in the guise of the other, changing back and forth and making her crave both.