Once done with both arms, she moved back to the table before returning to him.
This time at his other end.
The work she did there was practiced and swift.
The result everything she wanted it to be and more.
A leather strap around his hips, two thinner straps running down either side of the crevice of his ass, the other end attached to a catch on his harness at the base of his balls.
There was a distinct growl that throbbed through the air, a corresponding throb hitting Amélie in five places, as she tightened the buckles of the straps, this spreading open the cheeks of his ass, exposing perhaps (and she hoped she would eventually find out), his keenest vulnerability.
“Fuck me, fuck,” he hissed.
She moved again. Settling into another crouch in front of him, she tore her gaze from the gloriousness of his readied ass and turned her attention to his face.
His was already on hers.
Oh my.
Oh yes.
There …
Good God, there …
The backs of his eyes. She saw it.
It flashed fiery, almost too deep to see, but she caught it before he blinked and blanked it, his face a hard mask, this an effort to hide what she was making him feel.
Regardless.
“How are you feeling, Olivier?” she asked quietly.
“You been strapped to a floor with your ass spread open?” he returned, voice still thick and now harsh.
“Another rule, I’m sorry that I didn’t share before, but answering a question with a question is not acceptable,” Amélie shot back. “Now, answer my question, please. How are you feeling?”
“Like my dick is being strangled,” he replied.
“And?” she pressed.
“Pissed,” he bit out.
There it was.
And she gave it to him. “You top from below.”
A quick, blunt-edged, “No.”
And in his face a strange hint of chagrin.
Oh my.
Unexpected.
He wanted to be topped. He just fought letting go.
Oh, she liked this. She liked this a great fucking deal.
In a shuffling step, still crouched in front of him, she came nearer. His attention intensified as he watched, anger melting, hunger honing his features.
He wanted touch. She’d barely brushed his skin strapping him down and he wanted her hands on him.
Even the barest touch might make him climax.
She wanted to test that.
But not yet.
She had other tests to administer. Tests he had to pass and lessons he needed to learn if he was to earn her time in the future.
“You need to let go, Olivier,” she instructed.
Frustration then anger infused his expression.
“Think I did that, Mistress,” he spat the last disrespectfully. “Seein’ as I’m strapped to the floor with my ass, also strapped, I’ll fuckin’ add, in the air.”
She let the disrespect slide.
“You know you bought punishment with your opening line. Indeed, you bought it watching me move toward you. And you know you bought more with your attitude when you hit this room.”
He averted his gaze.
He knew.
“Look at me, Olivier,” she ordered softly.
His eyes came back but the effort was apparent.
She tried not to smile or, actually, howl with glee.
No, not yet broken.
A miracle.
She lifted her hand, fingers curled in a loose fist, toward his chin.
He shifted, seeking the contact.
She stopped him.
“Don’t move your chin,” she commanded, her tone still soft but now also sharp.
He froze.
She held her hand just below his jaw and leaned forward so her face was an inch from his.
More hunger, this stark.
Eyes flickering down and up, knowing what he was giving away, unable not to do it.
He wanted her mouth.
This—the mutual test, the challenge relayed and accepted, the dare, the impudence, the taunts, the battle of wills—this was his favored game. She knew it to her fucking soul.
And it was hers as well, by far the sweetest trip you could take.
Ecstasy.
“And I will punish you, Olivier,” she continued. “What you don’t know, you can only assume, is that I’ll take care of you. And that,” she edged closer but not close enough, sensing his body trembling, feeling that tremble caress her clit, the walls of her pussy, wishing she could hitch her skirt, straddle his hips and ride it to climax, “I promise, chevalier, I … will … do.”
She watched him force back a painful swallow.
“Yes?” she pressed.
“Yes, Mistress.”
The two words were strangled, giving the impression he hated saying them, giving her that even as she suspected he got off on uttering each much, much more, he just wouldn’t admit it.
Perfection.
She straightened away and turned from him, allowing the smile to curve her mouth when she heard his choked-back groan.
Amazing.
This soon in play with her, he simply fed off her nearness. Her attention.
One last piece. One minor adjustment.
Then she could begin.
She walked back to her toy with the length of gold chain in her hand.
She forced herself not to take in the glorious spectacle of his restrained body, which might cause things to get out of hand in a way that wouldn’t test anything, except to see if he could ride her strapped like that, and kept her focus on his face.
He eyed the chain warily.
Handsome. Built. Hung.
And not stupid.