CLAWS OUT
Celia had to stifle a gasp of awe as she admired the shiny metal claws glinting from her otherwise petite hand. Normally, her manicure was short and trim—she did favor a sexy, glossy-red color for her nails, but they were still the nails of a size-four woman barely over five feet. Her size, though, had nothing to do with her sexuality. Inside, she knew she was an Amazon, a goddess, a woman capable of all sorts of wicked, gloriously sadistic acts.
Over the last month, John had found out just how sadistic she could be. She’d already tied him to the bedpost and tickled him, holding a feather duster in her teeth. She’d had the most fun with his cock. But of all the parts of his large, meaty body she’d pinched and bitten and beaten, it was his back that was most sensitive. She barely had to tap the suede flogger against that sweet spot beneath his shoulder before his head was buried deep in the pillow as he writhed.
Celia reluctantly took her new claws off, one by one, sliding the metal pieces from her fingertips and placing them back in the velvet pouch. They were gorgeous, a perfect symbol of her inner power manifested into something cool, sleek and dangerous—not that she’d ever truly hurt him. Her claws were about taking him right to the edge, where his skin prickled with fear and anticipation.
She kept them tucked away until the time was right. That night he was too jumpy, not in quite the right headspace. The next morning, though, she recognized the perfect opportunity. The sun glinted through her bedroom window onto her sumptuous black sheets, reflecting his rumpled, sleek back. John was a big man, but he’d been spared the voluminous hair that had plagued many of her other lovers. His was sparse, all the better for raking her claws down his back. She started by slipping a blindfold over his head, one so light he’d barely notice.
He only began to stir when she raised his hands above his head and twisted her panties into makeshift handcuffs around his wrists. “What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Sleeping Beauty.” She ran the flat of her palm along his spine, down over the slope of one buttcheek, curving along his balls. She wanted to make sure he was, indeed, hard; otherwise the torment of keeping him on edge lost some of its appeal.
“That’s what I like to feel first thing in the morning,” she uttered as she reached beneath him and wrapped her hand around his stiff cock. John tried to buck into her touch, but she was too smart for that, and immediately dropped it.
“That’s not what your dick is for,” she snapped. His moan let her know he didn’t mind one bit; being used as little more than a phallic prop turned him on like nothing else. Okay, maybe not quite as much as her taking him to the edge of pain and keeping him dangling on the precipice. Celia grabbed the pouch before straddling his waist, making sure her wetness met his warm skin. If she wanted to, she could simply hump him until she came, maybe use a vibrator to heighten her pleasure. But she’d have no problem getting off later; this was about a more lasting kind of pleasure, the kind she got from making sure he knew he belonged to her, through and through.
Before she broke open the pouch, Celia decided to play good domme for a little while longer. She leaned over to the bedside drawer, letting her nipples brush against his back as she reached for the massage oil. “Just relax.” Those two little words could have multiple meanings—their simple, surface meaning, or their more twisted, sadistic opposite. She wasn’t above telling him to relax right before she pushed the lever on his nipple clamps higher, tightening them on his nubs, or before she brought a vibrator up to his balls. It was up to him to read her well enough to hear beyond the dictionary definition, to learn her body language even when he couldn’t see her. Only when he’d mastered that skill would she truly know he had long-term potential.
Celia warmed the oil between her hands, pausing to rub a little on her breasts, once again leaning down, this time to smear the warm liquid directly onto him. She added more, doing a sexy slip and slide before capping the bottle. Then she put her training as a masseuse to work. She’d done a stint as a massage girl, giving hand jobs but also true back massages; she’d been so good that the latter were what netted her the biggest tips.
Soon he was practically purring, putty in her hands—just where she wanted him. After digging her elbows into a few strategic spots, Celia stopped.
“Stay right there; I’ll know if you move.” She got up to wash her hands, and when she returned, she made sure to jingle the claws; the soft tinkling sound of metal on metal made him groan. “I have a surprise for you, because I take good care of what’s mine, don’t I?” When all Celia got was a moan, she pinched the tender skin at the back of his neck. “Words, darling, use your words.”
“Yes, you do. You always know what I like.”
“That’s more like it. Now relax; this will only work if you don’t tense up.”
Then she put the claws back on, transforming herself into what she considered her own version of Catwoman. She didn’t need to dress up; the claws were all the costume she desired. With them on, she was a fierce woman with a weapon, one she chose to use for their mutual pleasure.
She waited until the only sound she could hear was John’s heavy breathing. She shifted so the full weight of the warmth between her legs pressed down against him, then, steadying herself with her left hand on his upper back, she traced the tips of the claws from the nape of his neck on down. With barely any pressure, they still had a profound effect, if his breathing was any indication. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked, before sinking them just a little more firmly into his soft, pliant skin.
“Oh my god,” he sobbed, his body shaking as she made identical pink lines down his back. Celia had expected, to some degree, how turned on he would get, but the claws seemed to be working just as much magic on her. With each stripe she left on him, a corresponding jolt of excitement crept from his body back into hers.
She thought about writing her name on his back, but realized she didn’t need to; her power and possession were there, on every inch of his skin, whether she was touching him or not. She shifted so she was kneeling against John, facing the expanse of his beautiful body, then moved her non-clawed hand so her fingers were curled around his balls. Lifting them, she stretched her thumb upward so it grazed his asshole. Then she raked her metallic claws down his back, harder than she had before. She didn’t draw blood, but the lines were more vivid. The room crackled with energy.
“Are you ready to see what I’ve been using on you?”
This time she let him get away with a nonverbal response. When she rolled him over, John’s cock greeted her. She’d been planning to keep teasing him—and herself—but the sight was too hard, as it were, to resist. She turned to make sure the panties were still snug around his wrists, her nipples dangling against his face in the process. When he strained to suck one nipple, she pulled back. “Not unless I say you can.” Keeping her breasts just out of reach, she turned her hand so the flat of the claws could brush his cheek, smiling at the shiver that raced through him. “These you can kiss,” she commanded, sitting up and bringing that same safe back edge of each claw to his lips.
Then, the claws having served their purpose, she slipped them off before slipping him inside her. She faced him, riding his cock while she used her natural nails to give his chest a similar treatment. This time, she could tell exactly what each scratch, each pull of the few hairs on his chest, did to him.
He knew he wasn’t allowed to come until she did, but she liked trying to get him to anyway—all the better to punish him afterward. So when Celia said, “Next time, I’m going to tie you spread-eagle and use two sets of claws on your inner thighs,” she was delighted to feel him explode inside her. Maybe “next time” would happen, well, as soon as she came. Good thing she’d bought an extra set.