The whipping post had been set up.
Such was the attraction of Nick Sebring—the whipping post and I hadn’t noticed.
If done well, that was my favorite scene.
I reached to my drink and took a sip, forcing myself to take in the players.
The man had the whip. Cat o’ nine tails, a beautiful set in braided chocolate and burgundy leather with expanded curved tips, not knots, beads or frayed.
He was in jeans, nothing else, and had a large, muscular body that was most appealing.
A woman was tied to the post. She was also in jeans and nothing else. I saw the red marks on her back and knew she’d taken more than one lash during my inattention.
And when I watched what the man did next, I automatically crossed my legs, feeling my lips part and Nick Sebring flew from my mind.
He ran his lips along the marks on her back.
One. Another. The next. And the next. Slowly. Tenderly.
A devotion.
Once done, he ran the handle of the whip along her hip.
Again slowly, he stepped back, raised his arm and let loose.
The slap of leather against flesh filled the chamber as her head flew back, her quiet moan sweet and short, her back arched.
He moved in and tenderly ran the tails of the whip along her skin. As he did, she relaxed for him. He then worked her neck with his mouth and pressed his bulging crotch into her behind before he again stepped back and let loose with the whip.
And again.
Then he moved back to her.
I’d seen many such scenarios but not one as slow, as drawn out, as tender, loving, sensual as the one before me. A scene where he mixed pleasure and adulation with her pain like they had an entire week for him to bring her to climax and not the length of their scene at a sex club.
They were on display, who knew how many people watching, but they were completely alone. She was completely his. Her adoration of him not in question. And this adoration was not what he could do to her. Not what he gave to her. That was only a part of the love she had for her master.
She loved him.
His devotion was the same. Unhidden, completely exposed. Every move he made was entirely focused on her pleasure. On her.
She was the center of his universe, at play and not.
After an unusual succession of three lashes, her moan came deeper and I again could not control the direction of my gaze.
It moved to my left.
When it did I saw that Nick Sebring was entirely focused on the scene. Leaned slightly to his right, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his hand up, his thumb distractedly tracing his lower lip.
At this sight, my sex, already damp, convulsed.
I wet my lip and bit it, watching his thumb move along his. Wanting my tongue to replace his thumb with a yearning the strength of which I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt.
Without warning, his head turned, his gaze capturing mine.
His eyes were a startling blue. Pure blue. Like the ocean.
I wet my lip again.
Those blue eyes dropped to it.
My nipples tightened.
A noise came from the window and I looked that way, seeing the man was now rubbing his partner between her legs. She was working his hand, writhing against her bonds, desperate for every inch of contact he gave her.
I felt my breaths begin to get heavy and tightened my thighs against each other.
The man went from between her legs to her fly. He undid it and pulled her jeans down over her ass. Once bared, he paid attention to it with whip, hand and lips.
I again bit my own lip, this time to hold back the inadvertent noises I would emit at how what I was watching was making me feel.
He pulled her ponytail free, her long, curling, red-blonde hair falling down her back and swaying against skin that had to be beyond sensitized. Seeing this, I felt my own hair trapped between my back and the seat and I wanted it released. I wanted it moving against my skin. I wanted to use it against his.
Not the master working his slave before me.
The man with the pleasantly deep voice and ruggedly handsome face beside me.
Sebring.
The master pressed his hand back between her legs, now unobstructed by her jeans.
Her noises became desperate.
His growls of approval became audible.
Witnessing that, hearing it, instantly, my need became uncontrollable.
Utterly.
I looked left and saw Sebring’s eyes not on the scene but on my crossed legs.
I uncrossed them and they cut to my face.
His gaze was burning, searing holes right through me.
God, he felt the same as me. About that scene and about me.
Seeing that in his eyes, without that first thought, I pushed out of my chair and moved along the low divider that demarcated our seating areas.
I was breaking the rules. I knew my membership could be revoked for what I was about to do.
I didn’t care.
I moved around the divider to his section.
The noises from the scene playing behind me filled our space, getting louder, keener, hungrier.
I stopped at the side of his chair, looking down at him.
His head was tipped back, his eyes locked to mine.
Another growl from the window followed closely by the unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh.
Master was fucking his slave.
A trill ran down my neck, my spine, spiraling over my ass to tighten between my legs.
Completely unable to stop myself, I bent to Sebring and ran my nose along his cheekbone.
When I started to lift away, my head was captured with his hand cupping the back.
At his move, my heart stopped beating and a surge of wet drenched my panties.
We stared into each other eyes.