AMÉLIE
The next afternoon, Amélie listened to Aryas responding to her concerns about Tiffany and Delia over the phone.
“I’m handling it, Leigh.”
“But Aryas—”
“My sweet, I’m handling it.”
His tone made Amélie shut her mouth.
Aryas did not shut his.
“I get you’re concerned. I get why. You know I am too. So trust me, I’m handling it. And if I need you, I’ll call you. Yeah?”
“Yes, Aryas,” she replied.
“It’ll all be good, honey,” he said reassuringly.
Aryas wouldn’t lie.
“Right, Aryas. Thank you. And I’ll be there for anything you need, if that need should arise.”
“Knew you would, babe. Now, hear you got your room reserved for the night. Have fun with that big stallion of yours.”
That made her smile. “I always do.”
She heard his return smile in his next words, “Right, Leigh. Later.”
“’Bye, Aryas.”
She took the phone from her ear, disconnected the call and went right to her texts.
Spoke to A. He says he’s handling things with D and it’ll all be good. I trust he’s doing as he says. So it will all be good. Does that work for you? she texted Olly.
She didn’t have to wait long for the reply, It’ll have to.
He sent that and then sent another right on its heels.
For now.
That made her smile bigger, Olly’s concern for Tiffany, a girl he didn’t even know.
See you tonight, darling, she returned.
Yeah you will, was his reply.
And unsurprisingly, that made her smile even bigger.
* * *
That evening, Olivier stood before her in her “barn,” ready for his introduction to the social room.
That was, with him standing naked and with the command of motionless in front of her, she’d soft brushed him, oiled him all over, strapped his ass open, plugged it and harnessed his cock.
He’d arrived, as usual, with the same done to his balls.
She moved to stand in front of him and saw the wild was at the surface, unhidden.
All right, so maybe she hadn’t tamed the beast.
This was a lot to give, she knew, for many subs. Mistress and toy in their place in their room, even with onlookers, was a controlled situation. A situation that Amélie sensed Olivier understood (correctly) that, in the end, it was he who held the control.
And also, even with an audience, there was an intimacy to it that could not be denied.
A social room was much different.
She moved close.
“No one can touch you without my leave, beast,” she assured gently.
He gave her one of the many things she loved to get from him. An upward jerk of his head, like a stallion fighting, showing his defiance, at the same time knowing he had no choice but to relent.
Amélie allowed her fingertips to touch his stomach lightly, getting closer.
The wild in his eyes darkened.
“You’ve never done this,” she noted carefully.
“The Bolt doesn’t have a social room,” he shared. “Members want that kind of thing, they take it off premises for a private party.”
Well, that explained that.
“And you haven’t gone off premises for such a party?” Amélie queried.
He shook his head in a sharp no.
She nodded, hiding her surprise.
It was another indication either of inexperience, or what she realized with their time together was more likely—he’d never had a Mistress he trusted enough to give this gift or enjoyed himself enough with to go there with her.
From what little she now knew of one of his Mistresses, this really was actually no surprise.
She just hoped he’d enjoy himself once he’d gone there with Amélie.
“Right then, chevalier, I’ll explain,” she said softly. “I’ll lead you by your magnificent cock. I’ll take you to a table I select. I’ll guide you to the front of it and when I release you, you’ll lean over the table. You’ll spread your legs wide. You’ll cross your arms under your head on the table. You will not speak at all unless I give you leave, even if another Dom addresses you. And you’ll turn your head my way.”
Amélie got closer and finished with giving him what she knew he’d need.
“I’ll be in your line of vision all the time. I’ll be right there. And remember, my steed, you are mine, no one else’s.”
She got even closer. Flattening her hand on his stomach, slowly, she slid it down the length of dense hair to his cock, feeling those muscles ripple as she did it, at the same time she held his eyes.
“You are mine,” she repeated. “Nothing will happen there I do not wish. And I’ve made my desires clear to you but I’ll do it again. I do not share. What you give in there, you give to me. It is you and me, chevalier, like always.”
By the time she stopped talking, she’d wrapped her hand loosely around his cock and was rolling the tip with her thumb.
His teeth came out and scored his bottom lip.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Ready, Amélie,” he answered, the answer gruff, not firm, a hint of unease in his tone, but his eyes stayed locked to hers.
“So good, my beast,” she whispered with approval, ran her thumb harder around his cock head and watched his lips curl back in that amazing half-snarl. “So good,” she repeated before she released his gaze, turned, and pulling him gently by his cock, she walked to the door.
She also walked him out that door.
And she walked him down the hall.
She did this with her head held high, shoulders straight, gait slow, one foot in front of the other, like she normally walked.
But there was no mistaking the pride in her pose.
It was beyond the elegance ingrained in her by her mother. Beyond confidence.
Straight to haughty.
And she didn’t care. Not that she would normally, but she owned the marvelous stallion following her because she’d earned that claim.
And it was making her wetter and wetter with each step, feeling him follow her, his trust in her, giving her even more, letting her lead him into the unknown, allowing her to show him off in all his glory.
So she deserved to be fucking haughty.
And she was so deep in that glorious moment, she barely acknowledged Master, Mistress, and definitely not toy as she opened the door to the social room and led him in.
This room looked much like the hunting ground, bar at the end, surrounded by curved booths.
However, it was smaller.
And there were raised, oblong stations down the middle, all of them like stages, only the center one having a pole in the middle.
The bright light beaming down on the stages was mostly what lit the room, although there was elegant blue lighting around the bar and that same blue at the edges where the walls met the ceilings, plus very low watt bulbs providing minimal illumination from sconces dripping with crystals over each booth.
This meant that most of the rest of the room was quite dim and there were even some corners that were downright dark.
This, Aryas’s genius way of providing a chic atmosphere at the same time allowing, should a Mistress or Master have desire of it even in that social setting, privacy.
She noted distractedly that when they entered, there were a goodly number of people there, but only two of the five stations had a sub performing for (and with) their Dom.
Amélie barely glanced at any of them. This was because, if those performances were getting attention, they’d lost it the minute Amélie and Olivier entered the room.
She felt Olivier hesitate and rounded the head of his cock with her thumb reassuringly even as she didn’t miss a step and kept pulling him inexorably to a booth on the opposite side of the room, its situation centered, her intent to parade her steed for all to see.
She did and she almost wanted to guide him right back out, return to their room, so she could unharness the splendid brute she held in her hand, climb his big, powerful body and bury him in her pussy.
She didn’t do that.
She stopped him at the front of the table at the booth she selected, released him and looked to his face.
He was looking down at her, the wild even in the dimmed, blue-tinted lighting unleashed. So out of control, she feared he’d bolt.
She felt her clit swell, her nipples harden and her stomach warm when his jaw clenched but he did not bolt.
He bent over just as instructed, legs wide, arms crossed, head on them, torso to the table, strapped, plugged ass offered for display.
She slid her hand over the cheek of his ass, gliding her fingernail lightly down the outside of the strap as she murmured, “You please me.”
As instructed, Olivier said nothing.
She then moved into the side of the booth, her gaze going direct to his to find his locked on her, and he didn’t hide his desperate need for her to be right where she was.
Amélie again reached out, this time stroking the small of his back.
“Calm, Olivier, I’m right here.”
He didn’t settle so she stroked him and continued to do that.
“It’s in your power to share with me if you need to leave. And I’ll share with you that this will not displease me,” she assured him. “Now, mon grande, do you need to leave?”
It took a moment but he held role and instead of answering audibly, he shook his head on his arms once.
She flattened her hand on him and showed him her pleasure through a soft smile.
“A drink, Mistress Amélie?”
She turned to the female server and nodded. “Yes, please.”
Astutely, the server made no mention of Olivier at all, which would call to his attention that he was the center of attention, not only from the server’s admiring eyes on his backside, but from most of the room.
It was, to Amélie’s shock and considerable dismay, Delia, fortunately without Tiffany for once (the only fortunate thing about it), who approached first.
“Please tell me that hole is on offer and not just for show,” she begged and regrettably continued, “I’ll have my cock strapped on and fuck him raw before any of the boys can get their bids in.”
Olivier tensed under her touch, an unfortunate response for it made Delia’s eyes drop and her face fill with greed as she stared at the bunched muscles of his ass.
“Pay you to drive deep in that,” she muttered reverently.
“If you do not take your eyes from my Olivier, you’ll struggle to see through them after I put all my effort to scratching them out.”
Her tone was no threat.
It was a warning and Delia’s attention snapped to her.
“You brought him to social and displayed him,” she rapped out.
“He’s mine to do that and we both enjoy that fact. Alas, I didn’t know you lurked in social or I would have selected another evening, one when you were not here.”
“I can put my eyes where I wish, Amélie,” she bit out.
“Not if that’s my steed,” she returned coolly.
“I’m no slave, honey,” Delia shot back acidly. “You can hardly tell me where to look.”
Amélie shifted only an inch and her voice was ice-cold when she retorted, “Try me.”
“I think this Mistress has made her wishes clear as it comes to her stud, Delia.”
Amélie’s gaze moved to Aryas, who was standing close and positioning closer, shuffling Delia back and away at the same time hiding Olivier with his considerable bulk from the odious woman’s eyes.
“I would assume you’d require her to respect your wishes if you asked the same for one of your slaves. Respect that’s mandatory at the Bee’s Honey, as you know. So I believe with no further exchange, we’re done here,” Aryas concluded.
“I’m uncertain how I feel about how you run your club, Master Aryas,” Delia sniffed.
“I’m uncertain I give a shit, Mistress Delia,” Aryas fired back.
She gave him a glare, another sniff, then stormed off.
Aryas turned his attention to Amélie.
“Thank you,” she said shortly, still angry.
“Don’t mention it,” he murmured, glanced down at Olivier, gave her an audacious grin that was reminiscent, if not as effective, as one of Olivier’s, and he strolled away.
Amélie looked down at her beast.
He was biting his lip and she didn’t know if he was doing this to stop laughing, stop speaking, or stop himself from shouting.
She glided her hand from the small of his back up to his lat and bent close.
“You may say one word, mon chou, are you all right?”
“Yes.” It was again gruff but this time gruff with amusement as well as something else that was pleasant.
Amélie felt her eyelids go hooded and she leaned back, gliding her hand to retrace its movements but not stopping at his back.
She stroked the cheek of his ass and partially down his back thigh.
She continued to do this as Mira slid in the booth opposite her.
Amélie blinked at this new surprise.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” she noted.
“Well hello to you too,” Mira replied on a happy smile and Amélie smiled back because she knew why Mirabelle’s smile was happy.
Suffice it to say, the first date—as well as the three after it—had gone well for Mira and Trey.
Putting new meaning to that “well,” Mira turned her head and ordered, “On your knees, please.”
Trey, standing at Mirabelle’s side, dropped to his knees beside her.
Without hesitation, Mira shifted so she was straddling the end of the booth, put her hand to the back of his head and shoved it between her thighs.
“Hold it there. I’ll let you know if I wish your tongue,” she commanded.
She looked up from her sub/new boyfriend to Amélie and Amélie couldn’t help the fact her smile was huge.
Mirabelle smiled huge back.
Neither of them noted why they were smiling, as they wouldn’t with the two male specimens (one of whom would be the topic of that discussion) right there to hear, regardless of their submissive postures.
“So, of course, word spread wide about two seconds after you led this beautiful brute into the halls that social was the way to go tonight,” Mirabelle noted. “Beware the doors opening and we’re treated to the Honey’s version of the bull run at Pamplona in this room.”
Amélie felt Olivier tense again but she ignored it, didn’t look to his face, and kept stroking, widening her range as best she could without reaching, her touch as light as she could make it.
She did this grinning at Mira in response to her quip.
But she shared, “We won’t be performing,” doing this for Mirabelle’s information as well as to assure Olivier.
“Too bad,” Mirabelle replied, her lips twitching. She looked down and pulled Trey’s head from between her legs using his hair. “Would you like to perform for me tonight, my handsome slave?”
“I’ll enjoy doing whatever pleases you, Mistress Mirabelle,” Trey answered.
She slid her fingers along his jaw. “You always do,” she whispered affectionately. She then slid her fingers back up his jaw to his hair and tenderly pressed his face between her legs again. “As before, my slave,” she ordered adoringly.
Ah, yes.
Things were going very well with Mira and her Trey.
The server brought Amélie’s drink and asked Mirabelle if she wanted one. Mirabelle declined and by the time her friend looked back to Amélie, Amélie could not contain the glee she felt at witnessing Mira’s tender handling and Trey’s seemingly easy shift from Mistress and submissive to more, that more still including Mistress and sub.
“Stop grinning like a goof,” Mirabelle ordered.
“Make me,” Amélie retorted, taking hold of her drink and then taking a sip.
Mira rolled her eyes but focused on something beyond their table as she rolled them back.
“Mm, Talia’s taken a shine to that big boy and he’s performing beautifully for her,” Mirabelle noted.
Amélie put her drink down and looked over her shoulder to see one of the stages was taken up with four players, but two more were standing at the edges.
In the middle was Bryan on his back, his legs up the chest and over the shoulders of another male slave, his ass being fucked by that slave as another male slave had his weight in his hands over Bryan’s head, fucking his face.
As for Bryan, he was stroking his dick madly, clearly finding pleasure in what he was getting and putting on quite a show.
The two slaves’ Mistresses were standing close to the stage, enjoying that show, while Talia stood on the stage, calling the shots.
“She’s finding interesting ways to keep him from speaking,” Amélie remarked, her eyes on the stage, her bottom sliding slightly down the booth so her hand had more access to Olivier.
With this access, she cupped his balls.
“Indeed he is,” Mirabelle agreed.
Amélie barely heard her.
Moving her attention from Talia and her sub to Olivier, she ordered quietly, “Legs wider, mon chou.”
He did not look amused and he did not look desperate when he immediately acquiesced.
He very much liked his Mistress paying attention to his balls.
He was hers, only hers, and she his, only his, right there in a room full of people.
She gave him a smile that told him precisely how much she liked that.
She also gave him more.
Moving from his balls, she went to his plug and gave it a slow twist.
His lids lowered and he came up on his toes.
“Beautiful,” she cooed.
He bit his lip, not scoring it with his teeth, pulling it in and keeping it in.
Performing well, doing as told, keeping silent, her sweet beast.
She went back to his balls, taking her eyes from his and sensing something.
She looked to the room and noticed Stellan across it, standing, no slave in attendance this time, back to the side of a booth, arms crossed on his chest (again, what a bore), his attention on her.
She didn’t give him hers for very long but she did give it to Olivier.
“Slide closer to me,” she ordered on a light squeeze of his sac.
He slid from the center of the table her way.
When he did, she switched positions with her hand, reaching under the table to cup his balls in one hand and she manipulated them while stroking the skin of his ass and thighs with the other.
She looked from her fascinated perusal of Olivier’s face turning languid with the slow build of lazy desire, delighted at the ease with which she’d been able to guide him to a just them, even in social, to Mira when she felt her friend’s gaze.
“I suspect I’m grinning like a goof now,” she declared.
“Please shut up,” Amélie requested, any bite of her words not there due to the smile infusing them.
“I think I’ll do that since I’m feeling some alone time coming on with my handsome boy,” Mira returned, pulling Trey’s face out from between her legs. “On your feet, handsome. Time to eat.”
Amélie watched Trey’s face grow hungry and she liked that so much for her friend, she squeezed Olivier’s balls tighter than she meant to.
She heard his low noise and looked to his face.
He’d lost the wild. It was gone.
He was hers. In her hands in every way he could be.
That meant so much to her, Olivier settling in so beautifully, she tore her gaze from his, having just enough courtesy to look up to Mirabelle and bid, “Enjoy.”
“You, too, my lovely,” Mira replied, yanked on the leash she had attached to Trey’s cock harness, and led him out of the room.
Amélie looked back to her steed.
She shifted her attention to the inside of his straps, light, so soft, and he again went up on his toes.
“God, you’re amazing,” she whispered in a tone she knew was just as adoring as Mira’s had been, maybe more so, doing this leaning toward him.
Olivier licked his lips.
Amélie leaned closer.
Suddenly, looking through the dim at her tamed beast with his sultry eyes, she wanted to know everything on his mind.
And since she could, she set about learning that.
“You have this moment to speak freely, Olivier,” she granted.
He didn’t hesitate.
“Is he here?”
She felt her brows draw together.
“Who?” she asked.
“Baby, you know.”
It came to her that she did.
“Master Stellan?” she queried to confirm.
He jerked up his chin and it was alluring, masculine, magnetic, even with his head down on his arms.
“He is,” she shared. “Why?”
“Is he watching?” Olivier asked.
“I only glanced at him but yes, as usual, he was, chevalier.”
“Then make me perform.”
Amélie blinked.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“I’m yours. Make me perform.”
“Onstage?” Her voice had risen for this surprised her.
She would not expect Olivier would want to do that.
And further, she herself never made her toys perform in social. This was because she was also performing and that was something she didn’t fancy.
She actually didn’t often go to social for she rarely had a toy who she wished to display. She happily lifted the blinds but she preferred the barriers and the intimacy the glass provided, and the undistracted closeness of what she could offer her toys behind it.
“No,” he grunted. “Unless, do you—?”
“Absolutely not.” She made her feelings clear on the subject.
“Then here.”
She didn’t understand.
“Olivier—”
“If you claim me here, Mistress, then I’m claiming you. Right?”
With that, she understood.
“Fuck me,” he ground out. “You wanna make me come, make me. But I want him to know where we are, you and me, but also fuckin’ him, and I can do that my way or you can make that crystal right now.”
His way, she was sure, Stellan would dislike immensely and even Aryas might frown on.
Amélie, however, wouldn’t mind witnessing it.
Though she was absolutely certain it would be worth the headache it might cause, it wouldn’t be worth it if Aryas frowned on it significantly.
Even with these thoughts, his request (which was more like a demand), was beyond titillating and not because she wished to make him serve her right there at the table.
But why he was making his demand in the first place.
A declaration of possession, through her of him, to him of her.
All this to Stellan, and due to their locational circumstances, to everybody.
For Olivier might not know that she’d never, not once, done such with another toy (this was when she wasn’t training with another Dom).
So everyone who was in the know through history, and it would spread by word of mouth, would get the message Olivier wished to send.
She got closer and she actually felt the sparkle in her eyes even as she felt something much more lovely between her legs as she cupped his balls and covered his plug with the palm of her hand.
“You do know, my steed, this isn’t topping from below. This is actually telling your Mistress what to do.”
“You don’t wanna do it, up to you. I’m just telling my Mistress what I want her to do.”
“I see the difference,” she murmured sardonically.
“Your call,” he stated the obvious.
“Stop speaking, Olivier, and no more, unless they’re noises you can’t control.”
She saw his expression darkening.
He was getting what he wanted and he liked that.
And so did she.
“If you need to adjust to hold on to the edge of the table, please do so,” she invited. “And please be aware that you’ll need to retain some stamina for I intend to ride your face when we return to our room. And it would please me greatly for you to offer more of your seed while I stroke you when I do that.”
“Baby,” he growled.
With that, Amélie had him where she wanted, not because he had a statement to make to Stellan but because he wanted what she was going to give.
She moved to his cock and started unbuckling the harness, her eyes searching the space. Avoiding Stellan’s, she found a server and inclined her head.
The server approached.
“Please bring me a receptacle,” she requested.
“You got it,” the girl replied, moved quickly away and Amélie removed the harness from her toy.
She again gave him her attention.
His face was dark, his eyes riveted to her, his jaw clenched, a muscle jumping up his cheek.
“Now, you serve me, my Olivier,” she said softly.
As his show of submission, he again lifted up on his toes.
And at that show, Amélie felt a tremor between her legs, gripped his cock, took hold of his plug, and she made her toy serve her.
She fucked him with his plug, stroked his cock roughly, and didn’t even notice the server setting the pail under to the table to catch Olivier’s cum.
Amélie’s eyes were glued to his and his to hers, giving her all the communication she needed.
Then his head came up, his arms slid out, and he gave her everything.
Arching his back, flat stomach pressing into the table, hips tipped up, he came up to his forearms, fingers curled around the edge of the table, but his head dropped down in a submissive gesture that had her clit buzzing.
“You may express your pleasure audibly but quietly, only to me.”
His burning eyes cut to hers and he hissed, “Fuck me, baby. Take my ass. Jack my junk and goddamned fuck me.” Before she could demand it, her training kicked in, and he finished in a way that was so … deliciously … Olivier, “Motherfucking please.”
Her clit and womb spasming, she took him there and nearly came, sitting in the booth beside him, wondering if he’d rip the table right out of the floor as he bucked violently, lifting up to arms outstretched, head bent back, hips pistoning, and shot into the pail, thrusting through her fist to do it.
She slid the plug in gently, milked him as minimally as he needed before she slid out of the booth with more than a little urgency.
“Up, Olivier,” she ordered huskily.
He lifted up, sated eyes, face soft, all that for her, all that she’d given him on show to the room.
She moved in, hand back to his cock, and he bent his head down.
She kissed him.
Then he kissed her.
After she pulled away, she led him out by his semi-hard cock to their room, kept the blinds down, pushed him on his back on a bench, and climbed on his face.
He ate her wet pussy ravenously as she stroked him in order to get him hard yet again.
She was so primed, she came before she could take him to climax and collapsed on his chest and stomach, her face nuzzling his hardening cock (regrettably hardening because she was spent, Olivier had made her come exquisitely (as usual), and she didn’t have it in her to do anything about it).
With a noise of surprise, she found herself moved, turned and rolled so they were face-to-face and he was on top.
She looked into his eyes.
“I think that made my point,” he declared, his deep voice rolling through the room, coating it and her in complete and utter possession.
The feel of that was warm.
Amélie still shivered under him.
He was right. He had. She’d had no control, barely allowing him to recover from his orgasm before she dragged him from the room to get him to herself.
To give herself to him.
That was not her modus operandi. Amélie was in control at all times. She gave. She took. And always, she did so with attention and affection, but still with an air she could take it or leave it.
She did not smooth her toy’s jaws as Mirabelle did, not in the hunting ground, definitely not in a prolonged scene in social.
She most certainly didn’t make a mad dash from the social room so she could ride her toy’s face.
But with Olivier, she’d shown much affection, as Stellan had accused, holding hands and cuddling with him openly wherever she felt like it. Indeed, doing that for hours with him just the night before.
And obviously, she’d made that mad dash from the social room so she could ride her Olivier’s face.
But she didn’t care.
He may well be her Shane. Her Trey.
Just hers.
Completely.
In fact, everything they shared made that seem more and more real.
God, she could not wait for their weekend.
To that end, she lifted a hand and smoothed it over Olivier’s jaw and into his hair.
“You do know he’s no competition,” she noted soothingly, for there was a new beast to be tamed, she could see it in his eyes, and she enjoyed this one just as much.
But he wouldn’t so she had to do something about it.
“I know he wants you and he wants that bad,” he returned.
“He’s a Dom, Olly,” she told him something he knew.
“He wants you to bend him over a table and he wants to take his fucking from you, Leigh-Leigh. He wants to thrust his cock in your hand. He wants you riding his face. He wants you to string him up and jack his ass so deep, he spews across the room for you. He wants to fuck you senseless. He wants,” he dipped his face close, “what’s mine.”
Oh yes.
There was a new beast to be tamed.
She melted under him even as she shook her head. “I’ve known Stellan a long time and I don’t think—”
“He wants what’s mine and it’s mine,” he bit off, interrupting her. “He can’t fuckin’ have it.”
Amélie fell silent.
“Fuck,” he ground out, nudging her legs open with his knee. “I need to fuck you, Leigh.”
“So fuck me, Olly,” she invited.
The heat of possession in his expression only intensified as he positioned, brushing his mouth against hers, before he drove inside her wetness, filling her full.
Then her Olly proceeded to fuck her.
Senseless.
* * *
Thursday evening in the bed in the red room, Amélie collapsed on top of Olivier after she rode him to a stunningly gorgeous simultaneous orgasm.
When she did, Olivier did not wrap his arms around her.
He couldn’t. His wrists were cuffed to the bed over his head, as his ankles were cuffed, legs opened wide down below.
When her breath again came easy, as did his, she nuzzled his neck.
She’d had book club Wednesday night. He’d had plans with his friends that night.
He’d ditched (his words) his friends and came to her.
“You got the text with my address?” she asked.
“Babe, wanna hold you.”
She lifted her head and looked down at her bound steed.
“I like you at my mercy.”
His gaze flashed and she grinned. Leaning in to sweep her lips across his, when he lifted his head to get more, she pulled away slightly.
“Olivier, did you get my address?”
“Yeah, Leigh-Leigh, on the way here. Was more interested in getting inside than texting you back. Thought we’d have a drink and I could share the pressing news that the global communication system is still functioning, all systems go, and I got your text. But you hightailed our asses in here so I didn’t get to confirm that yes, I got your address.”
She laughed softly because he was funny.
Then, she asked, “You’ll come after work tomorrow?”
Tomorrow began their weekend at her ranch.
“Yeah. Drive means I’ll be there late, though, sweetheart. Eight, earliest. Probably more like eight-thirty.”
Disappointing.
But she’d work with it.
“Fine,” she replied.
“Baby, uncuff me. Wanna touch you.” He gave her that then whispered, “Please.”
Since that was sweet, she brushed his lips with hers, moved them down his jaw, his neck, his throat, and at the dent at the base, she murmured, “Come to me harnessed.”
“Of course,” he grunted, half insulted, half turned on.
“And plugged.”
His body tensed under her.
She trailed her lips to his nipple and took a bite.
“Fuck,” he growled.
She licked his nipple and ordered, “Plugged, Olivier.”
“Okay, Amélie.”
She lifted her head and saw him dip his chin in his throat to look down at her.
“If you aren’t hard when you arrive, when you arrive, you stay in your car and make yourself hard for me. If you arrive late, I want you to arrive ready.”
“I’ll be ready,” he rumbled, lifting his hips into hers still straddling his cock.
“We play, we spend time together.” She slid up his chest so they were again eye to eye. “We enjoy. We talk on Sunday.”
“Works for me.”
Excellent.
“Now, I feel the urge to lick your lovely sac until you beg to come for me.”
“Christ,” he gritted, his head digging into the pillow but his eyes remaining on Amélie.
“Would you like that?” she asked playfully.
“Are you joking, asking that shit?” he asked back impatiently.
“Would you like my pussy while I do that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Babe. Again. Are you joking, asking stupid-ass shit?”
She got closer, her lips touching his, and lost the playful, watching him carefully as she reminded him, “Darling, I’m filled with you.”
“Gorgeous, that pretty pussy of yours can be drippin’ three loads of my cum and I’d still fucking eat it.”
He was simply perfection.
Amélie grinned against his mouth.
“You gonna grin at me all night or you gonna lick my balls?” he queried irritably.
Her playful came back. “I wonder,” she started musingly, “if my steed wants my tongue on him more, or if he wants his mouth on me.”
“Pussy, absolutely,” he answered. “Now, if you were wrapping that sweet mouth around my cock, that’d be a different story.”
She grinned against his mouth.
“Baby,” he growled warningly.
“You please me, Olivier.”
“Thrilled, Leigh-Leigh. Now, how ’bout you shake a leg and let me keep doing that.”
She allowed her eyes to smile.
Then she slid off his cock, repositioned, and let him “keep doing that.”
He did not lie. He had no hesitation eating her and him out of her “pretty pussy.”
So she rewarded him by spending a good deal of time on his balls but when his growls into her flesh turned pleading, she gave him that different story.
She tasted herself while she did, but in the end, it was just Olivier Amélie took down her throat.