Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (37 page)

Both of her legs curled around his waist. With the side slit of the sarong all the way to the hip, there was nothing in the way of his other plunge. He’d been right. She wasn’t even wearing an indecently tiny thong under that thin fabric. He’d seen the provocative shadow of her ass, the seam between her buttocks when she left him to go get the blindfold, and now he worked his hand under the fabric so he was clutching flesh when he drove into slick, hot wetness.

He let out a reverent oath, mirrored by her guttural moan, and he was pounding against her, reveling in the sound of her body hitting the wall with sensual impact. He showed her his strength, how it could serve her, just as she said.

That thing in his ass was making things even more crazy intense than they already were. He’d gotten impossibly harder, and the cock ring was starting to cut like a son of a bitch. He wasn’t going to be able to come with it there, an agony that would serve his Mistress to the nth degree, since he was staying titanium hard.

“Your punishment, my pleasure, Max,” she whispered against his ear, his Mistress inside his world of darkness. “I’m going to come, and you’re going to listen, and beg me for the same privilege. But I’ll make you service my pussy with your mouth until I come again, before I even consider it. With that dildo still inside, I’m going to flog you, make your skin burn fiery red. Then, and only then, I’ll let you come. I’ll play with it, push it in and out, and you’ll come into a condom. Your punishment. You get your Mistress’ pussy after that. If you can still get hard at that point.”

“Count on it, Mistress.” He said it between clenched teeth, everything in him worked up, like a battle rage but different, everything driven by the need in his cock, by her scent, by the taunt in her voice that was all seductive cruelty. She wanted to wear him out, wring every ounce of sensation from him, turn him into a mindless fucking machine. Make him let go of his will and serve her with everything he was. Exactly like his instructors had done during Hell Week.

He was going to give it all to her, even more than he’d given to them. And he thought he’d given them everything.

* * * * *

When he’d pulled his cuffs away from the wall, he’d used enough force that one of the metal handles had cracked the sheetrock. She’d pay for that damage, of course, but it had been worth it, on so many levels.

Now she sat on the bull’s-eye chair, studying him. He was on his hands and knees in the middle of the floor, condom rolled onto his aching cock, wrists still in cuffs, locked to each other while he clasped a metal bar embedded in the floor. She’d ordered him to spread his knees and was studying his gorgeous ass, the quivering of his flanks. He’d just come into the condom, and his head was down, forehead pressed to his knuckles. She held the cock ring in her hand, working it around two of her fingers like a tiny hula hoop. It was slick from the sweat off his balls, the lube that had slipped out of his ass, the semen trickling from his cock.

He’d come while she was flogging him. She’d used a medium-weight flogger, knowing his nerves were aroused enough that the slap on his tender inner thighs, the crease between legs and ass, the muscle layers of the upper back, would intensify the sensations as if she was using a heavier weight. She’d driven him to the finish like a drover over a team of wild horses. Reaching down between strokes, she worked off the cock ring, squeezing the thick base of him with deep pleasure, and then started flogging the upper back again.

With the other hand, she’d started to work that dildo in and out, in and out. If she’d tried to fuck him with it earlier, he likely would have frozen, but at that point it was all about the physical sensation. She’d worked him too hard, too relentlessly, for a little macho hang-up like his concerns about sexual orientation to get in the way. He’d convulsed, bucked, his face contorting, and managed to strangle out the words he’d instinctively known to reach for.

“Mistress…I need to…can I…”

From a true sub, she would have demanded,
May I come, Mistress?
Maybe even made him hold out a little longer.

Instead, she stopped flogging him and bent over his body, wrapping her arm around the great chest, pressing her hips against the curve of his buttocks, giving the dildo a firm push with her pelvis. “Let go for me, Max.”

He’d roared with it, overpowering the thunder of the waves she expected he’d forgotten during that key moment, though he’d stayed intensely aware of his surroundings far longer than she’d expected. She’d wanted him to lose focus, to see if he could trust her that much, if she could overcome bone-deep training. Arrogance on her part, an unreasonable demand, but it was a female thing she wouldn’t deny herself.

She couldn’t say for certain he’d completely let go of that control, but he’d joined her on the beach for certain. She could live with that.

Rising from the chair now, she eased the dildo out of him, wrapping it in a towel and moving to the sink to leave it there. She found a bottle of cold water in the mini-fridge and came back to him. Folding down on her knees beside him, she touched his face and brought it up, curling her fingers in the collar he wore. She didn’t ever want to take it off him. She wanted to make him a permanent one, something with steel links that she could toy with, twist in her fingers to tighten it when she drew him down to her for a kiss, that would mark his flesh when he slept in it.

She’d put him in the zone, but she was deep in there with him.

She told him to release the bar and straighten. She didn’t unlatch the cuffs from each other, so his bound hands rested on his thighs as she brought the bottle to his lips. He drank from her hand as she stroked his face, his sweat-dampened hair. He’d worried that he was like the others, that he was no different, and she wasn’t ever going to allow him to think that. She loosened the blindfold, letting it fall away so he could see the rapture she knew was in her expression, the sheer bliss shining out of her eyes.

“That was stunning, Max.”

He was…dazed wasn’t the right word. He was too self-aware for that. But he was definitely in what was probably the SEAL version of post-subspace. Breathing leveling out but still deep, a quiver in all his muscles. Everything riveted on her, body and mind caught in a curious stillness, no words to say. He turned his head to kiss her hand, mouth working over her fingers, moving to her wrist, down her forearm. He brought his bound hands up to hold it, then drew her forward, his knees spreading to bring her as close as the restraints allowed. He captured her mouth, his fingers still wrapped like a manacle around her wrist.

“Mine,” he muttered. “My Mistress.”

She closed her eyes, captivated by his power over her senses. She clasped his shoulders with her free hand, deepening the kiss, but he was through letting her take the lead. When he broke the hasp between the two cuffs, she had to suppress a curse. He’d gone through a fair half dozen clips tonight. It didn’t matter though, not in the face of more important things. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body so she straddled him there on his knees.

“Take off the condom,” he said against her mouth. “I want to feel your pussy when I shove into it.”

As she reached down between them, she found her fingers were shaking. He hadn’t been boasting. He was recovering fast, and she was more than happy to help, tossing the used condom to the side and closing her hand over him to caress his cock. He caught his hand in her hair, tongue lashing hers, every muscle in his body showing his demand, his need for her. He worked her against him, kneading her ass, rubbing his shaft with devilish skill against her swollen clit as he got stiffer.

“You must take Viagra,” she gasped.

“That’s what your cunt is for me, Mistress. It makes me hard just to think about it.” He tugged her head back, arching her throat, and then he was biting and kissing her there as he continued that massage between their bodies. Janet writhed on him, working herself over him. With a primal sound of demand, he used that impressive strength to turn her away from him, put her on her hands and knees. In one shift, he was behind her, his cock still stimulating her clit, only now he was erect enough he could do it with his pelvis flush against her ass, hips working as he rubbed the ridged head against her pussy.

She’d never done it like this. Not since Jorge did it to obviously dominate her. Which was what Max was doing, but in an entirely different way, with entirely different responses.
I’m yours…but I can do this to you, because you’re also mine…

That was the message, and it overwhelmed her. With him, she accepted it, didn’t resist either side of that coin, and relished both.

He draped himself over her, taking her to her elbows with the gentle pressure of his body. He fastened his teeth on the back of her neck where her hair had fallen away, exposing the nape. He licked her there too, still moving his hips against her, and she was lifting up to him. One large hand cupped her breast, squeezed and she let out a soft gasp at the pleasure that shot from the pinched nipple to her core.

“Can never get enough,” he muttered, biting her shoulder, then kissing it. Pain followed by a soothing caress, and she was so caught up in those sensations his penetration took her by surprise. One lift of his hips and he’d slid home like he’d slide his sidearm into its holster, sure and straight, powerful and strong. Strong enough that it plowed her deeper onto her elbows and he banded an arm around her waist, holding her close to his body, breath hot on her neck.

“Want to fuck you forever, Mistress. Make you come all over my cock, make you scream my name.”

She closed her eyes, the pleasure of his demands and desires sweeping over her. The passion gripping him now had as much to do with what she’d stirred in him while he was her captive as with her being in his arms now. Cradled like an egg even as he vowed to shatter her universe.

She pushed back against him, challenging him with her answer. When she tossed her head back, he caught her jaw, fingers pressing into it to turn her face to him. Sealing his mouth over hers in a powerful, deep plunge, he began to work his cock inside her. When his hand dropped from her face to slide beneath her, she bucked her hips, reacting to his clever touch upon her clit. The man had multiple talents while fucking, thank the gods.

He growled in satisfied response to her moans, driving into her harder. His fingers bit into her hip as his other hand pinched, stroked, worried her clit until she was rotating against him, slamming back into his cock over and over. She could have squeezed down on him, tried to take over the pace of the climax, but there was nothing now but the wild, rushing whitewater ride of their pleasure together. As she went over that pinnacle once again, she screamed out his name, just as he’d desired and threatened. And he called out for her as he joined her on that fall.

* * * * *

They’d been quiet for a while. Max was idly stroking the line of her back as she lay on his chest, her thigh draped over his. Janet was glad she’d booked the room for the night, as she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to get up anytime in the next hour. She was…well, sated might not even cover it. This was like a human form of paradise, everything so utterly right, so perfect, that there was no desire to move. Hadn’t there been a
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
episode like that, where Buffy and Riley were caught in a euphoria where they didn’t want to come out of a bedroom? Of course they were magically ensorcelled and bad things were eventually going to happen as a result. Unlike this situation, where she felt everything that should be right with the world was here in this room.

She shared the Buffy part of that thought with Max, won the lazy, devastating smile she’d hoped to see, to verify he was feeling the same way. He was a big, replete male animal, and she wanted to simultaneously devour and lie upon him like this forever.

“I didn’t figure you for a Buffy fan.”

“Marcie was, as a teenager. When Cass and Lucas were on their honeymoon, we were taking shifts, staying at the house at night so she’d have an adult to help out with the younger children. She and I did an all-nighter, watching a marathon of Buffy episodes. She talked me into it.”

Max grunted. His fingertips whispered over her buttocks, circled, came back. She couldn’t remember when she’d last relaxed in a lover’s arms, both of them naked like this. Or when she’d last given a lover total access to her body, the permission to touch implicit with every breath, every heartbeat, rather than a formal structure. This was beyond issues of rules or restrictions. She needed his hands on her, wanted him to touch her however, whenever he wanted to do so. And she wanted to do the same.

“How was it?” she asked.

He tilted his head down to hold his lips against hers in a lingering touch. When he pulled back, just enough to break the connection, he touched her face, fingers sliding along her jaw.

“I think it was everything we both wanted it to be. I’ve no regrets, Mistress. And any time you want to do something like that again…I’m game. As long as it’s just with you.”

“Damn. I had the Miami Dolphins’ cheerleaders all lined up to jump you, but since you’re going to insist on being monogamous…”

Laughter vibrated through his chest as he lay back again. “Well, maybe I spoke too soon. I
can
be more open-minded with the right motivation. How about if the cheerleaders were jumping you?”

She glanced up at him. “You’d prefer that?”