Chapter Ninety
… From the pocket again, he offers me the matching earrings.
Necklace and earrings were not all that he gave me.
Is this going to be the full set?
Clips…
Clamps…
Plug…
The snap and bite of teeth…
Pain…
Unreasonably, Pussy thrums and clenches.
Pain and pleasure…
His blue-grey gaze smoky and intense, my Master caresses me with his eyes, the pupils wide and dark as I fit the earrings. “They suit you very well,” he says. Taking me by the shoulders, he steers me around. “See?” He aims a finger toward a mirror.
My reflection faces me, naked save for my Master’s gifts, glinting green, bronze and amber, matching the dance and play of the lamps over my hair, almost black in the blue-green light.
The projected images of the glass gems, jade and turquoise, dance over my skin: my arms, my breasts and belly, the smooth mound of my waxed pubis. With the flicker of the candlelight, the spots shift and shiver, smoothing to rounds over my chest and thighs, stretching to ovals over my waist and breasts.
The linen of his shirt skimming my spine and shoulders, my Master regards the reflection with me. An arm looping around, he strokes me, fingertips grazing skin. A touch to the lips and the cheek. Skimming over a shoulder. Cupping under a breast. Thumbing over the hardening nipple and crinkling areola. Paired hands slide down my ribs and waist to my hips, then glide over my belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. Then, with a kiss into the crook of my neck, “Stand by the bed.”
The bed is huge, a four-poster, the posts intricately carved from some antique timber, the cross-beams and heavy brass curtain rings easily strong enough to support me.
My Master dangles cuffs. “Wrists,” he says.
I offer my hands and he fits the left cuff. Smooth black leather, soft and supple, fur-lined, the chrome buckle glints as he threads through the leather tongue, then cinches it in. “Comfortable? Not too tight?”
“No, not tight. It might not be tight enough.”
His eyes rise to mine as he buckles the right cuff, a smile lurking there. “They won’t be taking your weight this evening. They’re only for restraint.”
Oh…
“Where do you want me, Master?”
For an instant, his smile flashes, brilliant and white and clean…
… and probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.
Then the Dom emerges. Straightening up, his chin lifts and he eye-points.
At the head end of the bed, a few inches above the mattress, is a metal ring that I’d not noticed before, embedded in the wall. Maybe four inches wide, a matched pair of chains dangle from the ring, carabiners clipped to the free ends.
Toward the footer of the bed, from the right and left sides, straps hang from the cross-posts. Nylon, I think, they look to be made of the stuff they use for climbing harnesses. The dangling ends open to loose loops. Buckles fitted halfway along say the straps are adjustable.
A gentle push behind my shoulders. “Lie down, Elizabeth. Your head toward the wall. Arms over your head.”
The chains clink as he clips them to my cuffs. Then I huff, my breath snapped short as, grabbing me by the ankles, he hauls me down the bed until my arms draw tight and my legs flop over the end.
My back arches… “Master…”
“Shhh… Don’t worry.” He snags a foot, lifts and inserts it into the loop at the end of one of the straps. Then, ditto for the other foot.
Looking up through my own raised and spread legs, “Stirrups?”
“Stirrups,” he agrees, blandly. “I want you open. I want access to all of you.”
Stepping away, he assesses his handiwork, then returns, adjusting the buckle on first one strap, then the other. The straps shorten, lifting my ankles, easing my knees further back and splaying my legs wider.
Once, more, he stands back, this time seeming satisfied. “That’s a fine view, Elizabeth.”
Since he’s looking between my spread thighs, cool air washing over my exposed vulva, I have a good idea of what he’s looking at. But, flat back against the mattress, I can’t easily look back at him.
“Pillows,” he says, pushing one under my head. “More comfortable?”
“Much more.”
Another pillow pushed under my hips lifts me, angles me, and he spends a few moments re-adjusting the straps until I am arranged to his liking.
Again, he retreats a few steps, looking me over, brow furrowing as though considering something. “I think so, yes.” Again delving into an apparently bottomless pocket, he produces the emerald-headed plug that matches my other jewellery, his eyes creasing as he displays it to me. “To use or not to use?” he muses.
My voice quivers. “Master…”
“I wasn’t asking your opinion, Elizabeth.” Slicking over a finger with lube, he briefly probes me to the rear, the ring of muscle tightening, resisting, as he circles, spiralling wider, opening me. “You know how this goes. Let it happen.”
Inhaling, my lungs judder as I persuade muscles to slacken. Resting my head back, I stare up at the vaulted ceiling as my Master offers the chill metal tip to my rear entrance.
I shudder as it touches, then twists and penetrates until, with a Pop I surely only imagine, the plug slips into place, extended flesh closing over the neck, leaving me with that odd filled sensation. Clitty throbs. Pussy leaks.
“Very good.” A finger trails the length of my displayed sex and, involuntarily, I quiver, pulsing out a hot gush to trickle over my sensitising skin. “Now, time to let your imagination play. Elizabeth, look at me.”
From somewhere offside, he produces a streamer of silk, thin and filmy, sheened green, streaked gold, draping it over raised palms to show me. “Blindfold,” he says. “I chose the colour to match your jewels and the lighting.”
Slipping gauzy fabric over my face, he binds my eyes. A haze of light passes through, enclosing me in rippled emerald mist.
A palm, warm and firm, cups my cheek. “Now, relax. You’re here for the ride. Surrender to the experience.”
“Master…”
“Shhh…” Lips press to mine, easing mine apart, a tongue sliding over my teeth. Warm breath, mint-scented, laves my face and neck.
Then lips and tongue leave me, blind-sighted and wondering…
?
Footsteps. The clip of leather on stone, echoing as they recede,
The Click of an opening door or drawer. The Clunk of it closing again.
A clinking sound. Soft, almost musical. A dance of liquid and metal. Footsteps and clinking grow louder, draw closer, somewhere to my side.
Movement. The rustle of clothes… The passage of air over my skin…
And…
“Ahhh…”
Pure sensation… It spikes onto a nipple, sizzles through my belly and stabs deep into me.
Bucking uselessly, I strain to arch, the cuffs snatching at my wrists, the stirrups extending my thighs wider as my body flexes. I can respond only by gasping-in breath, then blowing it out again.
A pin-prick. An atom of feeling…
… and so intense, I can’t identify it as pleasure… or pain… or anything at all…
Bucking my hips, I cry out, my core snatching, pumping hot and fluid.
And again…
And now I can identify what I feel.
A mote of heat…
… over the nubbed flesh of a nipple…
Another dot of heat, this time on the globe of the breast.
And again…
Now, on the original spot, the heat building.
Another…
And another…
Pearls of fire that, out of all proportion to their size, sear me, spearing through my belly, igniting my core.
My body can only experience. But my brain churns…
Water?
But water would trickle. This is settling…
Building…
Coalescing…
Candlewax.
He’s dripping wax over me.
As each wax teardrop falls, it hardens and shrinks, tugging at the skin. My Master circles a nipple, then centres on it. The droplets build. In my mind’s eye, I see them, one atop another, mounding up, miniature cones, hoarding their heat before yielding it to my tortured-ecstatic flesh.
The spatter of droplets wanders, trailing a line south...
Oh, God…
No…
He wouldn’t…
… Some splash, creating minute reflections of the parent. With each droplet, each nugget of heat, my skin ripples reflexively…
“Ah… Elizabeth… You’re so responsive. So sensitive to the slightest stimulus…”
Swallowing hard, “It’s hard not to respond, Master.”
Another chuckle, then…
The droplets cease…
No sound. No movement.
Pure silence. Pure stillness.
Nothing save the green mist I'm looking through.
My ears strain for some clue…
My body quivers…
Making me wait?
Building the anticipation?
Of course he is…
Movement…
The click of a footstep or two. The swish and rustle of fabric…
“Master?”
“Be quiet, Elizabeth.” But his words are slightly muffled. As though he is speaking through something in his mouth.
Then…
Once more, sensation…
Glorious, unbearable sensation.
But not now in beads and teardrops. Instead, it brushes over the nipple, flickering over the already stiff nub. The skin of the breast gooses, a prickling that spreads over my belly, rides up my spine into my hair, and lances through to my throbbing core.