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“We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.”
— Eleanor Roosevelt
Tina
“Time for bed,” he suddenly announces, turning me over, and scooping me into his arms. He lifts me as easily as a feather and starts walking. He’s so tough, it’s like he could carry me forever. Sexy. Romantic, even. I drop my head onto his shoulder, loving the feel of his strong, sweaty body against mine.
The mechanic isn’t finished with me, thank you, baby Jesus! I’m so wound up, so utterly desperate. I’ve lowered all defenses or more likely, he’s simply obliterated them. I trust him unconditionally. Being with Max has healed old wounds. A result of love, maybe.
Deep in my bones—heart and soul, I belong to him. I’m bound tighter than as if with chains. I’m his willing slave. It’s crazy, but just now I want to kneel before him and kiss his feet.
He stares into my eyes, and with one look, we both know the truth: There’s nothing I’ll refuse him now. Nothing at all.
Carefully putting me on my feet, he lowers me down on his bed. Fuck, my paddled ass cheeks burn like a furnace against the sheets. Unbinding the rope that ties my wrists behind my back, he drops the cord on the hardwood floor.
His bedroom is masculine and immaculate with a tastefully minimalist feel. His time in the military created a fastidious preference for neatness and order. The large space softly lit, primarily colored in blues. There’s a magnificent armoire with intricate carvings, a drafting table, a side table, and two wingback chairs.
The king-sized bed is bare except for a crisp white fitted sheet. A top sheet and quilt are folded on a nearby chair, along with two or three pillows. It’s impossible to miss the hanging chains used for submissive restraint. They dangle invitingly from each corner of his dark wooden four-poster.
Who else has he brought here? I wonder, a sharp pang of jealousy stabbing my chest. But that can’t be right. Max doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t have girlfriends other than short term agreements at a club. As the second woman Max has had intercourse with, I must be the only woman he’s known well enough to bring to his bed.
A slow smile spreads across my face as the pieces fall together. Sneaky, clever mechanic. He really can keep a secret, can’t he?
Lifting me, he masterfully handles my body, positioning me on my back in the middle of the bed. Then he picks up a handcuff, its chain rattling. “I know you get off on being restrained,” he says huskily. “Which is good because I get off on restraining you.”
With quick, efficient movements, he secures my right wrist to the bed post. Walking around the bed, he does the same with my left. My ankles are next, and this time the flare of excitement behind his eyes stems from lustful desire, not sadistic need. His attention lazily drifts over my naked body from face, breasts, hips to my achingly empty sex.
A confident Dom, he’s used to getting his way. Hell, I’m half his weight and helplessly chained to his bed. Yet knowing he wants me makes me feel powerful. Delicate. Desired. I just wish he’d hurry up and fuck me!
After cuffing both ankles, he then uses a ratchet to lift and separate my legs, pulling them at a 45-degree angle toward my wrists. I’m confined to his bed on my back, but at least now my sore butt isn’t touching cloth. It’s a comfortable position. A respite of sorts for my burning backside.
“Christ, you are a fucking work of art,” his voice is deliciously thick with lust. “Well-disciplined ass. Restrained for my pleasure, naked and available. Your ripe body desperately craving my cock. Those long legs of yours raised up around your ears. I can put my dick in whatever greedy hole I choose.”
His gaze upon my pussy is so intense, so admiring, it slides over me like a caress. His fingers run around my clit clip, and over my sex. When he teases my entrance, my hips arch. Chuckling with approval, he glides through the ridiculous amount of moisture he finds there.
“You’re dripping like a leaky faucet,” he observes, paying me a crass, but oddly lavish compliment.
“Thank you, Mr. O’Neal.”
He laughs out loud. “You’re welcome, Ms. Buckley,” he replies wryly, making me laugh too. Finally, he strips off his jeans, displaying his heavy arousal. His massive erection is coated with pre-cum.
“Mr. O’Neal,” I say, lifting my eyebrows. “It seems you’re dripping too.”
He grips his stiff shaft, stroking it. I lick my lips, wanting to taste him. Seeing my desire, he gives me a slow, knowing smile. Pointing his dick at me, he asks, “You want this?”
“Please, Master,” I genuinely beg him. “Please may I lick your cock?”
“Not now.” He chuckles. “I’ll come in your mouth later.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Are you surprised? Unlike you, I’ve told you my secrets, so you know I’ve had BJ’s before. It’s pussy pounding that’s new to me. Specifically, pounding the fuck out of Ms. Buckley’s tight, sweet pussy.”
Aroused by his nasty talk, yet chastened for testing him and hiding my identity, my face heats with shame. “Sorry.”
“Already forgiven, remember?”
I nod.
“One last thing before I fill your hot little cunt with my cum,” he says, pulling an oversized dildo out of a bag, placing it on the bed. Gripping my thighs, he lodges his face between my legs, his tongue slowly and erotically lapping at my core. Each time I nearly explode, he withdraws, his face dark with warning. Just when I think I’m going to die from never quite reaching that pinnacle of pleasure, his lips surround the upper part of my labia, my clit and the clamp. Vacuuming my sex into his warm mouth, his tongue flicks my clit as he sucks. Hard.
“Please, please, please, please!” I moan, my inner muscles pulsing as my hips instinctively thrust toward him.
“Please what?”
“Please, Master, may I come?” I ask, hoping the Master thing will give me an edge.
“Didn’t I warn you that you wouldn’t be getting an orgasm tonight?”
“Yes,” I sob. “But you also said you forgave me.”
“That’s right.” He sighs, and the feel of his breath over my sensitive sex makes me squirm. “Well, I’d rather we come together,” he says. “I want to feel your gushing juices flooding around my cock when I’m balls deep inside you. Seriously, can’t you wait for your Master?”
A raw groan rips from my throat. I’m torn between longing to submit and needing relief from the tremendous buildup of sensual pressure.
“What’s it gonna be? If you must come, I’ll allow it, but I’ll be very displeased.”
“Fine, fine,” I say in a disgruntled tone, my need to please the mechanic winning hands down.
When his eyes flare with annoyance at my unwilling capitulation, I quickly add, “I can wait, Master. But I’m not superhuman—you’ll have to go easy. I’m sitting on a hair-trigger, here.”
“Good girl.”
His velvet tongue travels from my clit, down my cleft, along my perineum, to my anus. Squirming from the incredible sensation, I moan and whimper. Circling with his warm tongue, he rims my forbidden passage, then works two fingers in and out.
“Relax so I can dilate you properly. You’re not uptight, but you sure as hell have a tight ass,” he snickers, picks up the dildo, coating it with lube. He shows me the flesh-colored, penis-shaped toy. “This is a big one.”
My body shivers as he slowly feeds the large, rubbery cock into my back passage. I moan as it fills me, but I wish it was his big fat erection he was stuffing up there.
“There you go,” he says with satisfaction once it’s all the way in, then pushes to his feet.
The heavy pressure of the dildo makes my pussy clinch. I tighten like a fist around the void inside me, desperately searching for something to grab onto. I’m so damn empty, I need a good fucking! My cunt is dying to suck his cock deep inside, swallowing him, squeezing him, making him groan as he fills me.
He grins. “Don’t go anywhere,” he quips, as he steps into the ensuite bathroom. I hear him use the lavatory and wash his hands.
When he returns, he climbs onto the bed on his knees. Ducking to get under my spread and shackled legs, his hot male flesh brushes my ribs. Then he grabs a handful of my hair, winds it around his fist, and pulls. Hard. Controlling me. Holding me.
Fuck! I love it!
His other hand firmly grips my throat as he starts with my mouth in a brutal, no holds barred demand. His scent is an aphrodisiac. His bare chest pressing, chest to breast. Tongue invading me, fucking me, tasting me. My heart speeds as his musky smell fills my lungs.
His fingers erotically skim the length of my arms, capturing my cuffed wrists and palms. Linking his hands with mine, he pins me down with his big palms. Overwhelmed by his dominance, I moan from his deep, penetrating kisses. From time to time, he firmly tugs on the chain that holds my nipples.
I sigh, loving each quick, satisfying bite of pain. Loving all of it.
Max moves down my body, kissing and biting along my jaw, down my neck to my collarbone. Nuzzling my sternum, he nibbles and squeezes each breast, while making soft, humming sounds as he does. He sucks my nipples one by one, taking in the clamp as well. My tits are so tender!
Beginning to shake in small tremors, I feel like I have a fever. I close my eyes to better absorb the feeling. The heat of his body, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Those lips caressing, nipping, and pulling on my nipple chain with his teeth.
“I think we better take these off now, don’t you?” he murmurs, giving the chain a firm tug.
“Mm,” I agree, seriously wondering if a human can literally explode. If he continues this exhilarating, excruciating, dizzying foreplay, I just might.
“Look at me,” he orders, as he removes each one. Blood rushes into my nipples, making them throb and tingle. Searching my face, he watches my pupils dilate, my eyes flashing wide with sharp, aching agony.
Initially I cry out, so he pinches and twists to add to the harsh sensation. Each time after inflicting more pain, he murmurs soft, approving endearments. Then he soothes me by fondling my swollen breasts and suckling each abused nub. He continues to work my body into a frenzy. My pussy pulses as he works his magic.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait! You’re going to make me come!” I suddenly say, my movement making the chains clink—a reminder of my sensual imprisonment.
Pulling away from me, he laughs. He can’t go further down as my legs are chained. Pushing to his feet, he walks down to the end of the bed, crawling up and over my body. While caressing my breasts and pulling my nipples, he licks, kisses, and nips, moving further down. Passing my ribs, he reaches my navel. With a hand on each thigh, he suddenly buries his face between my legs.
“Max! I can’t hold back! I can’t!” I cry out. Once more I’m so wet and ready it’s nearly impossible not to climax.
“You filthy, nasty little slut,” he chastises, pinching my clit clamp tighter as a reprimand. Making it hurt so good. “Here I am, wanting to enjoy my submissive. Intending to take my time with every inch of your body. There’s nothing I love more than eating pussy, and you’re denying your Master that pleasure. You lack self-control, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Master,” I say. “I’ll try to do better.”
His expression is teasingly stern. “Well, you’ll need training and regular physical discipline. Riding crops. Whips. Spankings. I’m thinking of buying a small, uncomfortable iron cage. Maybe I’ll install a medieval rack.” He shoots me a wry, sly grin. “Something to stretch Stretch on.”
I chuckle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t you?”
I sigh long and low, feeling a vast sense of peace and belonging. “Oh yes, Master.”
He then removes my clit clamp, arousing me even more. My throbbing clit swells larger. Fuck, with sensation pouring through my groin and pelvis, I’m hyper, hyper-sensitive. I’m also intoxicated by the way he’s staring between my legs.
Riveted by the sight of me spread before him, he reverently breathes, “Christ, your cunt is so damn pretty.” Taking his time, he spreads my pussy lips with rapt fascination. Sensual and attentive, he toys with my soaking wet pussy. Touching. Circling. Stroking.
“Yes. Yes! Yes,” I sob. That and, “Please, please, please!” Sometimes, “Max! Max!” and “Master!” My brains turn to jelly so that at one point I get mixed up and call out “Maxter,” an odd mix of Max and Master. That’s about all the conversation I can manage before I return to making loud moans and desperate whimpers.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he marvels.
“Back at cha,” I mutter, still teetering on the edge of orgasm. Panting in short bursts, I barely hang on to what little control I have left.
“But how can I fuck you without making you climax?”
“I’ll try not to come!” I promise.
“OK. You’re going to orgasm when I tell you to, and not before then. Either that, or we’ll be doing this whole scene over and over again. We’ll keep at it until you get it right.”
I snicker. “No! No! Anything but that! What a terrible torture you’ve devised!”
