He dipped lower, wetting his fingertip and slicking my fluid up and over my hard, straining clit. I mentally tried to step my arousal back, because I knew there was no way I’d be coming this soon in the evening.
I concentrated on the sight of his hand in my panties, my body undulating in his lap. It wasn’t the most efficient way to keep myself from getting hornier. I should have thought it through better. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on his shoulder, and the hand at my breast came up to grasp my chin, forcing me to face the mirror once more.
“Open your eyes and look,” he commanded me. “Look at what I’m doing to you.”
It was almost too much stimulation. I wanted to clamp my thighs shut around his hand to stop him from moving. But he continued his slow circles that tugged at the hood of my clitoris and set off more throbbing pulses deep in my groin. His calm, steady breathing in my ear highlighted my own breathlessness; the brush of his clothing on my skin reminded me of my naked, vulnerable state.
“What can I do to you, Sophie?”
My answer was automatic. “Anything, Sir.”
“And you don’t ever fucking forget it.” He
softly bit my shoulder and withdrew his hand from my panties to give my mound a slap that made me yelp.
“Quiet,” he warned, and it was the voice of Neil my fiancé, not Neil my Dom. Then darker, lower, he said, “Get on your knees.”
I sank to the carpet in front of him, and the bra around my wrists slipped a bit. He pulled it free the rest of the way when he bent down to take off his shoes.
“Would Sir like me to take those off for him?” There was something I found incredibly sexy about taking his shoes off. That probably made me a bigger pervert than I already was. But acts of lowly subservience really turned my crank.
Sir looked like he was considering it for a moment, then he nodded once and lifted his foot. I sat back on my heels and slipped the shoe off, then slid my hands along his foot, to his ankle, reaching under the leg of his trousers to roll down his thin wool sock.
When I’d finished with his other foot, I felt him watching me with the kind of darkly amused intent that always gave me a pause. What had he come up with in his devious imagination? What would he do to me this time?
Raising his foot, he pressed my shoulder down, and I lowered myself to my hands and knees, then to the floor when he didn’t let up. He rose and stared down, hands in his pockets, at me lying prostrate before him. Then he held my head down with one big foot gently on the back of my neck.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumbled into the carpet. “Thank you for letting me please you.”
“Who said you’d pleased me?” He lifted his foot off me and walked around my body in a slow circle. I heard him pause before the drawer we were using as a stand-in for the toy cabinet, but I didn’t dare look up to see what he was getting.
I didn’t know he had the paddle until he dragged the wide leather surface down my back.
“Have you been a good girl?” he asked crouching to trail the top edge of the paddle up and down my spine.
“I don’t know, Sir. Have I been? It’s not my place to make that kind of judgment.”
The paddle swept up and over the curve of my buttocks, before Neil brought it down on his palm with a loud crack. “Right answer.”
His footsteps left the room, and I heard the television click on in the bedroom. The noise would provide cover for us, but the first time he’d ever done that during sex, I’d been furious until he’d explained it. I’d just thought he was stopping to watch TV. It had been one of our funnier arguments.
He came back and rummaged through the toys again, before ordering, “Sit up.”
The moment I lifted my head, a length of dark silk covered my eyes. As he knotted the fabric behind me, I slowed my accelerated breathing and found my center through sheer determination. I was trying to learn to pace myself, to not become over-stimulated or overwhelmed too early in the game. It was a losing battle. With every new order he gave me, my desire intensified. Soon, my need would be unbearable.
“Up.” He helped me to my feet. I swayed a little, disoriented by the loss of a sense, but I could tell he was taking me into the bathroom. As we passed through the door, he guided me to the counter where his-and-her vessel sinks stood on brown Italian marble. He positioned me between them and bent me over the counter, making sure every inch of skin possible touched the cold surface. I whimpered. I couldn’t help it.
“A bit cold?” he asked, one palm gliding over my ass. “Then perhaps this will warm you up a bit. Put your hands on the counter, where I can see them.”
I’d no sooner done it than the paddle hit me, a resounding crack echoing off the stone and glass in the room. I squealed; he usually worked up to the hard ones. I wondered how much worse they’d get, and my pussy clenched in anticipation.
“The telly only covers so much noise, darling. Don’t make me gag you.”
I pressed my lips tightly together, but who was I trying to kid? I was going to end up gagged one way or another tonight.
Another smack of the paddle, just as ferocious, was followed by a gentler one, and a soothing kiss on the wide swath of burning skin left behind.