Page 26 of At Her Pleasure
She settled herself more firmly on his fine ass, knowing his cock was getting up close and personal with the gravel. It probably felt like ground glass.
“Plenty of Dommes like fancy toys. I like them, too. But the most creative ways to torment a man come from what’s close to hand. And my imagination.”
She pushed up with a heavy thrust of her weight against his ass that won her another grunt. After tucking the Freyja pendant in her pocket, she removed her boots so she could shed her slacks, leaving her in her silky panties and bra. She pulled the boots back on.
He'd adjusted his head so he could see her. His eye flashed beneath the longer strands of hair over his brow. Sliding a finger under the edge of her panties, she tested her wetness, then brought it out to show him the glistening digit. She squatted and painted a heart on his ass cheek. Then she smacked it, not playfully. The angled strength of the blow would vibrate uncomfortably through his testicles.
“Do you have a safeword, Mick?”
“Same as yours. Fuck you.” His gaze glittered. “Only reason I want you to stop what you’re doing is if you’re going to put my dick inside you.”
“It’s so sweet that you think that’s a possibility.”
She tucked the flashlight in her boot and slapped him with the keys again. Harder.
Ignoring his oath, she straddled his thigh, putting her knee against his abused balls and perineum. When she took a good grip of his ass cheek, she started rubbing herself against the back of his thigh, letting him feel the silk crotch of her panties whisper against him. She purred at the hard muscle against her clit, then shifted to straddle both thighs, pressing her mound against the base of the buttocks.
“Wish I had my strap-on, so I could fuck you into the gravel. But this will do for me, here and now.”
She pushed against him like she would if she was fucking him, massaging her clit against the seam of his ass, knowing every thrust rubbed his cock against the unforgiving ground. His muscles stood out as he endured it, his teeth clenched.
What made it even more delicious was that he wasn’t bound. He could turn over at any time, try to stop her. Come up with a safeword phrase, like “Stop that, you fucking bitch.”
He wouldn’t. She was as certain of it as she was that his dick was harder than the gravel. It was in the incendiary lust in his blue eyes as they kept flicking toward her. He was ready to choke and fuck her at the same time. But he remained still, a ticking bomb only she could trigger.
Oh, God…just rubbing against him, watching him take the pain, was spiraling her toward release. Her body throbbed and she wanted him inside her now.
She’d waited for ten years, no reason to lie to herself about it. Abruptly, she moved back to her heels and stood. “Clasp your hands behind your back, fingers interlaced.”
As he obeyed, she noted the shudder. Movement from any part of his body rubbed his cock against the ground. She adjusted his knotted fingers so the knuckles were where she wanted them, pressed against his lower back.
She also retrieved the cuffs he’d had on his belt, verifying the key was still in his pocket. After she put the cuffs on him, she had another order ready.
“Roll over onto your back. Show me your cock.”
“Only if you show me your cunt.”
She put her booted toe against his ass and pushed, hard. It scraped him forward along the ground, and then rocked him back again as she removed the pressure. Probably no more than a half inch, which didn’t sound like much, unless one considered how it felt to shove a half-inch splinter under a fingernail.
His breath whistled through his teeth. “You’ve gotten meaner, Mistress.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Turn over. Keep your hands the way I put them.”
On his back, with his weight resting against them, the cuffs would dig into his wrists, his knuckles into the small of his back. As he awkwardly managed the roll, it was her turn to suck in a breath.
His cock had been scraped, enough that she could see the redness, plus a tiny, beaded strand of blood. But he had passed her flag test. Her whole body contracted at the size of his erection, hard and thick as one of the corn stalks, jutting up defiantly from the unforgiving earth. A true masochist.
Keeping her weight on her back foot, she slid her other one over his cock and pressed it down against his belly. Just holding it down, telling it who it answered to. Violence, blood and fire burned in his gaze. Need, in its rawest form.
She picked up his boxers, using them to wipe the dust and a few bits of gravel off his cock, giving him a healthy stroking at the same time. He didn’t thrust into her hand, but the effort not to do so was visible in the quiver that passed through him, head to toe.
“You’re pleasing me, Mick.”
“Thanks for not saying ‘good boy.’ That would have pissed me off.” His voice was tagged with a full-on growl. If he’d bared fangs at her, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I don’t fuck with boys.” She set the boxers aside and straddled him again in the panties and bra, her boots. She had a pocket inside the boot, a place to store a condom if she was in the mood to let a sub orgasm. Or, far more rarely, if she wanted to ride him to completion. When she took out the protection now, his gaze lasered onto it.
She thought about asking if she needed to use it. She was careful enough that, if she wanted to bareback a partner, as long as he was equally safe, she could do so. But she didn’t want to ask Mick. From the shadows in his gaze, she already knew the answer.