Rough Surrender (23 page)

“Ach. They don’t look happy. I like seeing them swing.”

“You do, sir?” She sounded amazed at what he’d said.

He smiled. “I have a sense of humor, Faith.”

“Ah. I see.” Then she wriggled her bottom and he put his hand on her mound until she stilled.

“No moving. Just enjoy.”

The olive oil spread easily on her smooth skin. His hands glided everywhere–around her waist, up to her breasts and around them in big circles that sometimes brushed her nipples. He prayed the clamps wouldn’t fall off but couldn’t resist touching her there, and the way she arched and moaned as he did so was more than worth the risk. Now, down to her pubic hair, to let his fingers comb the oil through and down into her cleft. The lips there were swelling, and more so as he glided up and down, slipping between them, around to the crease of leg and bottom, across her anus, ah yes, she glared at him then–delightful. He slipped a fingertip into the tight hole.

“Sir!”

“Stay.”

She lay back down, surrendering to his command. Yes. So nice. He slipped the finger in another half-inch and let it rest there, snugly, as his other hand paid attention to her little clit. The oil made everything slick, sensuous and a delight to touch.

“Sir,” she appealed in a strangled voice. “I may come if you do that much more.”

“Don’t.” But he teased the nub some more. The pulse it made as he flicked it, pinched it, then ran his thumb over it and back and forth, made his erection twitch and throb. When she moaned and her thigh muscles grew taut he slipped his little finger farther into her hole and abandoned his massage of her clit.

“Don’t stop. Please, sir!”

“Ha!” He stooped and bestowed one kiss directly on her clit, removed his fingers then stepped away from her.

She didn’t move, just lay there in the moonlight, arms above her head, with that inviting pussy open in front of him and the oil glistening on her swollen cleft. Her pussy clenched and another moan escaped her. With an effort, he tore his eyes away.

“I want you to kneel on a cushion from the divan, Faith. In front of the table with your hands on it. I’m going to spank you.” The oil on his fingers needed removing. He pulled out his large handkerchief.

Whatever else she might dread, spanking was apparently not one of them. By the time his fingers were clean, she was positioned as he’d asked, head down, pear-shaped bottom inviting him to spank her. In the moonlight, with his eyes accustomed to the low light, he could see his words on her bottom and spine. It was fading slower than he’d expected.

“I see you are still mine, Faith.” Heart pounding, he trailed his fingers over the writing then curved them onto the underside of her bottom.

Her reply was weak. “Yes, sir.”

He shuddered.
Lovely. So submissive
. He was tempted to ask her to stop flying airplanes while she was like this–obeying him so beautifully–but doubted she would agree. And, if she did, surely she would regret her answer. It wouldn’t be the truth. Something had to give though. He had to resolve this with her, had to tell her he’d deliberately withheld her engine. Because, after all, he wasn’t going to lie to her forever, was he?

He realigned his thoughts on the present, on where his hand lay.

“Do you like the idea of me spanking you?”

“I...think so, sir,” she said, voice muffled due to her head being down.

He stepped to the side and placed his hand on one side of her bottom, rubbed in large circles for a while before drawing back his hand and smacking it down. Though not a hard blow, she jerked. Another smack, on the opposite cheek then he smoothed his hand across where he’d hit. Another eight blows and Faith was panting. In the quiet of the night he could hear the squeak of the foxes as they rotated on their metal links.

“Good?”

“Yes.” She shifted her feet, sucked in a ragged breath. “The vibrations are doing odd things to me.”

“Here?” Without warning, he skated his fingers down along her cleft and found her very wet.

She gasped. “Yes.”

“Ah. You do like this.” While he stimulated her swollen clit with taps and nudges, he put his other hand on her hot, luscious bottom and rubbed where he’d whacked her.

“Ohhh yesss, sir.” She bowed up her lower back and so he poked his little finger into that inviting nether hole again, and in and out, feeling the grip of the circle of muscle tightening and relaxing. This time she barely squealed.
Hmm, another possibility, for another day
.

Eight more whacks on the underside as well as the fullness of her bottom and she was quivering and moaning, head down between her outstretched arms, her back arched so much he could see those puffy labia and the glistening of oil and her own moisture on her thighs. The little foxes had been well exercised as she was jolted by the blows.

“Time for something new.” He could hear the roughness in his own voice. Taking her now would be nice, but he’d wait. He loved her bound. Taking her while restrained was so much better he was sure it was one step from nirvana.

He cleaned his hands again.

Grasping her shoulders, he encouraged her to stand then found he couldn’t resist those pouting lips. Naked, with her leg muscles barely able to support her weight, Faith was trembling and soft in his embrace. He wiped the oil off her with the soft tablecloth then gathered her close with one arm around her back and one on her warmed bottom. With tongue and lips, and sometimes teeth, he kissed her exhaustively, making sure the early stubble on his face rasped at her skin and bruised her. Made her know she was his.

When he was done, Faith mumbled something before she tucked her head into his shoulder.

He kissed her hair on the top of her head. “What was that, dear?”

“Make love to me now, sir.” Her words were soft. Then she snuggled even closer, still hiding her head.

He rubbed his chin in her hair. “A new word, Faith. Say you want me to fuck you.” He squeezed her bottom, smiling when she winced.

“I...know that word already. But–”

“Say it.” He growled. “Say it.”

Sweat ran down the hollow of her spine to the line where his palm flattened on her bottom. The trembling grew, her mound pushed into his thigh, squeezed and released. He’d sign an affidavit right then and there that he’d need her juices laundered from his trousers. Damn.

Her hot breath sifted through his shirt and met skin. “Fuck me...please, sir.”

“Done.” A last kiss on her forehead then he took one silver fox between finger and thumb and towed her, by her nipple, under the awning to see his latest device.

She slowed as they drew near and the thing of metal struts, chain, and leather was revealed. With another tug on the fox he made her stop beside it.

“That looks like some medieval torture device...sir.”

He chuckled. “Not quite that bad. It will only hold you, not torture you. I do like the metal, though. Any torture will be an extra at my hands.”

“Oh.” She shot him a suspicious glare. “You’re not planning anything?”

“Perhaps.” He said that in monotone, sure it would get her all fidgety and anxious but not enough to stop him. At that, something clicked over inside him, tipped him into awareness of how serious this relationship had become. He knew precisely how she ticked and, likely, she felt the same about him–else she’d be running down the stairs by now or at least digging in her heels.

He also understood why she was suspicious. Making something that was practical yet slightly malevolent had enthralled him from the first weld to the last piece of leather.

Perhaps three feet long, the thing resembled a shortened sawhorse with those distinctive V-shaped legs, and the top of it padded with leather gleaming as black as the devil’s heart in the wisp of a moon beam. From the timber beams above, a chain hung down, ending a few feet above the padded leather top.

“Stomach down on top of it, please.”

Though she sucked in her bottom lip and wiped her palms on her sides, after a moment she climbed aboard.

There was something awfully arousing about having a nude woman obeying him while he remained clothed in shirt and trousers–especially when, on clambering onto his device, she wriggled and jiggled all her best parts in his face. He patted her bottom, eliciting a dick-hardening hiss from her then pressed down on the small of her back, easily flattening her onto the padded leather. Just for the satisfaction, he kept his hand there a while, letting her know, whatever muscles she had, they were no match for his.

She shivered beneath him.

Straps went around her ankles so her legs lined up with the
V
of the sawhorse legs. A flat chain around her waist held her torso down. Her head hung over the curved padding at the other end, with her breasts to each side and the foxes on her nipples jingling and glinting in stray moonlight.

“Now your arms, my dear.”

Again, though a little slow and perhaps reluctant, she complied.

“Excellent.”

He took them up behind her back and strapped each wrist to the chain hanging down from the ceiling, tightened everything just enough to allow blood flow but not to let her get loose, then stepped back to admire the position.

“You’re not planning anything bad are you, Mr. Meisner?” He heard her swallow.

“A little late in asking, aren’t we, Faith? Are you always going to revert to ‘Mr. Meisner’ when you’re nervous?”

“I don’t know. Sir. I could call you something rude instead, since you’re teaching me all these”–she swallowed–“bad words.”

“Not wise. Not wise at all.” Just for the fun of it he swatted her a good one in the most tender spot.

“Ow!” Then she wriggled invitingly. “Did not hurt.”

He smiled at that, sure she couldn’t see him. “Perhaps not. But it will, it will.” At the quick intake of breath and her abrupt stillness, he broadened his smile. Nothing like a little scare.

Faith’s legs were in a
V
, her bottom presented so her cunt was exposed to him, with her arms together running up toward the ceiling where the straps and chain held her. And her breasts hung down like fruit waiting to be plucked. Lovely.

He reached and lightly ran his palm over one breast, down her side to her buttock, and left his palm there, at the top of her thigh. “Can you move, Faith? Are you comfortable?”

“Comfortable?” Her voice rose to an indignant squeak. “Um.”

“From back here, I can see everything. All of you.” Just to remind her, with his other hand, he wriggled two fingers into her, curved them up and stroked her inside. Her internal muscles clamped down. Hot and wanting...wonderful.

Her reply was strained. “I’m good, sir.” Her cunt squeezed even harder. “Please...fuck me.”

Chapter 25

“I plan to, sweetheart.” Mr. Meisner pulled out his fingers and came to the front. She turned her head to watch him, wondering what he would do next. The way he’d strapped her down, with her arms up above, she could do nothing except wait. Against the star-specked sky behind him, his body stood in dark silhouette.

He knelt before her, encompassed her breast with one hand, warm palm pushing the cool fox weight up onto her nipple, and kissed her softly–nothing like the last one, the rougher kiss, when he’d nearly made her come.

Slowly, as he kissed her now and then, his wet fingers explored around her nipples and the clamps, pulling tweaking, then stretching each nipple as if they’d somehow grow longer. Ah. Delicious pain. Was there anywhere worthwhile left on her body that wasn’t throbbing? Lips, nipples, pussy, clit, bottom and even her nether hole seemed to have joined in–a chorus of want. But, most of all, she wanted him inside her. Now she’d been taken there by his cock, the memory taunted her.

“How are these? The clamps?” He flicked them both. “No numbness?”

“No,” she croaked.

His fingers met at the puckered tips. Both clamps came off at once. Pain hurtled through her nipples.

“
Mmm
!” Her eyes must have almost popped from their sockets. “That hurts!”

He kissed her again, hand scrunched hard in her hair, such a nice distraction while his other hand played with her breasts cupping them, rolling her scorched nipples. Her lips were bruised yet, as he brushed his mouth from her lips to skin, she tried to catch him, to further the kiss. His tongue and mouth slid across, down her jaw line to her neck, leaving a wet, cool line of saliva.

She moaned. “Kiss me harder, please.”

“You can wait.” After one last muscle-zinging bite in the center of her nape, he released her hair, and walked to the back where she couldn’t see. She groaned in frustration. Gripped by an urge to get free, she strained a little crazily against all the straps and restraints. Nothing gave more than an inch or two. She flopped back down, out of breath. Back there her legs were spread. Back there was Mr. Meisner, and whatever he meant to do to her, she had no say in it at all. Wetness leaked from her.

“Do that again. I like seeing you wiggle.”

“
Hmph
.”

“Then perhaps I should make you wiggle?” He plunged a finger inside her and swirled it round, back out and in, before something else prodded at her entrance, stretching it and moving her labia aside as it screwed into her.
Ever so-o nice
. The rubber dildo. She remembered the exact same feel–the two balls on it touched her inner thighs. He left it inside her then scooted his thumb and finger along until they encountered her clit.