She felt almost compelled to clap when he shifted his calves to where she’d told him she wanted them.
This left him still on his knees, a wide stance that would give him a nice stretch up his inner thighs but would cause no real pain.
What it was, was awkward and it made him vulnerable.
She went to the table where the bag she had packed for this room sat, put there by staff when she’d reserved the space. She riffled through it, finding what she needed. She riffled through it further, finding the things she’d need in a moment, setting them aside, at the ready.
Then she moved back to him.
He was twisted at the waist, hands still behind his head, watching her.
She nearly stuttered in her step, such was his beauty.
She finished her approach successfully, and in a closed-leg crouch, her knees shifted to the door so he couldn’t even see them or any view her position could afford him, she started clamping down the straps.
A wide, fleece-lined one just above his ankle. Another fleece-lined one at the bulge of his calf. And, she had to shift and reach so she was still as distant from him as she could be, the same at the bend of his knee.
Repeat with the other calf.
And her steed was strapped to the floor.
She stood, looking him over, avoiding his face but feeling his eyes on hers, and nodded smartly.
“Lovely,” she murmured crisply then moved back to the table.
She re-approached at his front, standing several feet away.
“You’ll know how to put this on. Do that now,” she commanded, tossing him the black leather with its mess of thin straps that had gold buckles, and in a variety of places, gold catches.
He caught it.
She stood back to watch.
He didn’t move.
She finally looked at his face. “Olivier, now, please.”
His head tipped back.
“Mistress—”
“Now.”
“But Mistress—”
Please no, it couldn’t be.
“Is there a word you wish to say?” she asked disbelievingly, her tone hiding disappointment that felt like acid burning through her veins.
“No,” he replied immediately.
“Then put the cock harness on now, please.”
“Mistress, I can see just looking at it, this won’t fit me.”
This could be true.
“Do your best, beast,” she ordered.
His head jerked in silent response to her address for him. He recovered from that without comment but hesitated, his frustration clear, and also clear was that it was mingled with an edge of anger.
She hadn’t had the latter in one of her playrooms in a good long while.
She liked both.
He strapped the harness on and Amélie thoroughly enjoyed watching him do it. It was a snug fit, the buckles on their last hole, and even so, he’d had to do some tightening which she could tell by the hardness in his jaw, the tensing of his frame, caused a twinge or two.
It wasn’t just the harness along his shaft. There was a ball harness, too, a strap down the middle that separated each testicle, stretched them slightly, this connected to the strap of leather sitting snug at the base of his cock.
And trussed in this, his testicles were so large, they bulged out the sides beautifully.
He wore it well. So well, it took an almost torturous self-discipline not to rush through the rest.
But she didn’t.
“The steel eyes in the floor, Olivier, to the front of you. Bend down please. Forearms lined up with the innermost eyes.”
This hesitation lasted longer—not having the use of his hands, being strapped down completely, at her mercy (unless he could pull those eyes right out of the wood, which was a possibility).
She rode it through with him.
It was her wont to be patient, she was known for it.
Demanding respect from him, the proper address of Mistress was simply a play in response to his, one that communicated she would not be topped from below.
In future sessions, if they had them, as was also her wont and something else that was well known, Amélie would allow lapses in all the formalities. Her domination would be made clear through actions, trust garnered through affection, punishment thoroughly administered only when earned—not words, not strict adherence to the rules.
But their first session, she had to practice more than the usual amount of patience even if she could feel the need to see him strapped to the floor on his forearms and knees gliding down the inside of her leg.
Eventually, after another mighty battle it was a thing of beauty to behold, he bent forward.
Ass in the air.
Another thing of beauty.
Amélie shuffled her thighs together to wipe away the wet as she forced herself to move slowly to the table.
She came back with the straps, made light work of snuggly fitting them so his forearms were immobilized at wrist and the juncture of his elbow.
His head was back. He wasn’t watching her restrain him. She could feel his focus on her face, the heat of it sensational.
She was an unknown. He’d placed himself in her hands. He had no idea what she would do. All he knew was that she had now wrested away his control. His bulk, his strength, there were likely very few situations, physically, that he would not best.
Now, that was stripped away.
There was fear tinting the air. Lovely, shimmering fear that was even more amazing drifting from this steed.
This mingled with the purple glint of arousal that a quick glance at his cock, which was straining, and not just the harness, proved fact.