Page 28 of At Her Pleasure

They were glazed, fierce. She pulled herself off of him, reaching down to remove the condom. As she did, she caressed his shaft, then rose, standing over him, a foot on either side of his hips.

“You have a choice now. To do without, or roll over and come by rubbing yourself against the ground.”

Shock crossed his gaze. Followed by a primitive animal hunger, impossible to describe or translate, though she understood it, deep inside. It took him nearly thirty seconds to be able to speak to her in anything resembling human communication. But when he did, heat washed through her.

“What does my Mistress want?”

Another absolutely right answer. “To see you roll over and come.”

He drew in an erratic breath. Had anyone ever been this cruel to him? She wanted to be the first. Needed to be the first. She wanted to believe that wonder in his eyes, the amazement that someone understood, that someone needed what he needed, in a way that didn’t make it self-serving on either side, was a first-time experience.

She’d come pretty close before. She’d been lucky that way, in her choice of male subs. But she’d never had something like this. Something that reached inside her and found what this did.

He turned over. Without his hands, he was scraping his face against the dirt and gravel. He couldn’t protect his cock except with the lift of his hips, which stretched his upper body and scratched his nipples against the ground. Since they’d been taut with arousal, that would hurt more, too.

She retrieved his belt and moved in front of him. When she sat down Indian style, she adjusted forward, lifting his head to place it in the triangle her thighs and crossed ankles formed. The gravel bit into her ass through the silk of the panties, but that was fine. Her own pain threshold was way above handling mere discomfort.

He would be able to smell her pussy in its post-climactic state, feel her labia pressed against the crown of his head. His mouth rested on her ankle.

It was an incentive, since what he’d endured for her was about to get even worse. A shudder went through his back, then he lifted his hips, lowered them, dug in, working himself against the ground. She leaned down to stroke her fingers through his hair. “That’s not gravel,” she whispered. “That’s my cunt you’re in, Mick. Fuck me with every ounce of strength you have. Show me what kind of man you are. How much pleasure you can give me.”

He made a pained grunt, but began to thrust determinedly. If he could shovel the gravel out of the way with his cock, take the pain of that, beneath he might find the more forgiving, rain-softened earth. Still not comfortable, but it would have the kind of friction that might help him get to that release. She didn’t expect he was looking for that, though. He wanted to do as she’d commanded, no tricks or cheats.

Another raw grunt tore from his throat as she doubled over the belt and struck his back. On the next strike she released one end and lashed him with the tongue, delivering a targeted sting to his flexing ass.

A masochist could come merely from imagining a Mistress inflicting this level of pain. But when enduring it, the body had different ideas. She knew when a man wasn’t going to be able to get there, no matter his determination.

Offering mercy wasn’t in her nature, but he’d impressed her. And if she let him damage his cock too much, it would be no good to her.

“Stop,” she said.

His breath was wet and heated against her ankle, a frustrated series of gasps. “No. I haven’t done what you said.”

“When I say to do something or not to do something, to stop or go, and you obey, you are doing what I say. That’s all that matters.”

She retrieved the key from her boot. When she bent forward to unlock the cuffs, he tried to push her hands away, even with the restricted reach of his fingers. She smacked them lightly, a reproof, and removed the restraints. As she set them aside, she noted the grooves around his wrists she’d hoped to create.

“Turn over, Mick.”

He didn’t move, his forehead pressed to her leg. “Who do you serve?” she asked. “Your ego, or your Mistress?”

His eyes shut tight, his lashes brushing her ankle. A shudder went through him, so deep it brought a frown to her lips. Finally, he turned over like she’d commanded.

More scrapes on his cock. His still entirely erect cock. The precum was stained with blood. Not much, though. Pain could hurt plenty without causing serious damage. She’d explored and tested that concept extensively.

“Unclasp your hands and put them on your chest.”

He did it, reluctantly. Head still in her lap. She stroked his chest, his jaw. She eyed his abused cock. “I want to see it spurt for me, from nothing more than my voice. I’ll be disappointed if it won’t.”

His eyes had so much going on in there. Darkness, light, fury, frustration, and suddenly…tenderness. Or was that coming from her? An unsettling thought. She lifted one of his hands to touch her mouth to the red mark on his wrist. His fingers twitched, stopping short of contact with her face.

"I want to touch you," he rasped.

"No. You can imagine that later, when you’re by yourself.”

“I’ve done that for ten years.”

“Don’t move anything.” Slowly, she put his palm against her face. He obeyed her command, letting her take over the movement, but showing that unprecedented mercy, she rubbed her face against his fingers, brushing her lips against the tips. “You will come for me,” she said. “Start pushing into the air. Imagine it’s my breath before I suck you into my mouth. Getting you wet before I slide you into my cunt.”