She moved behind him.
His ass tensed, the valleys on the sides coming out in even sharper relief, the muscular rounds fighting against the straps holding it open and exposed, and Amélie’s mouth watered.
Then she crouched again and reached between his legs, expertly attaching the clasp on the chain to the catch at the back of the ring closest to the tip of his cock and running the length to the ring in the floor. Quickly and expertly, she did a mental measurement of how much slack she’d need in order to give him the movement he would need without causing undue pain or even harm. She wound the chain through the ring and caught the clasp at the other end to a link halfway up.
It hung loose, only its weight now pulling down his cock.
“Jesus, fuck,” he clipped out, body unmoving, not about to test that slack.
“We’re almost ready,” she informed him.
He knew what was coming and he knew what it would mean.
She knew this when he dipped down, his forehead to the floor, ass becoming more prominent, back heaving with deep breaths, and she knew something else.
If he could take it, if she could give it to him, she’d have him again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
She moved to the panel by the door and flipped a switch. The multipaned windows surrounding each playroom had air trapped between the inner two panes for soundproofing. In the outer two, two sheets of electronically controlled blinds. One white and not quite sheer, but not opaque, to offer observers outside a view of what was happening inside as a silhouette. Another that was black, which would block onlookers entirely from enjoying the view.
The white sheet was down.
The whir hit the room as the sheet rolled up.
“Amélie—” he started, fear more than an edge in his graveled voice.
She liked her name in that tone.
Indeed, in that voice.
It was lovely.
“Sorry?” she interrupted him, using the word as a reminder, stopping as she made it back to the table.
“Mistress Amélie,” he corrected swiftly.
She turned to him and his eyes riveted to the paddle she held.
“I think fifteen strikes will do. It’s a lot for a first session, though you’ve earned it,” she said conversationally, watching his big body begin to tremble, his eyes never leaving the paddle, her mind wondering if she could give that first crack without coming. “That said, it would be the switch if you were used to me, so I think the paddle is a good compromise.”
She came to a stop at his side and his eyes shifted up to hers.
The plea was there, laid open bare.
He didn’t want to be watched. He didn’t want to be paddled. What he wanted, she was not yet sure.
But she would find out.
And in the meantime, she would make him love everything she gave.
“I said that I—” he began.
“I know what you said,” she interrupted again. “However, this room is mine. When you’re in this room, you are mine. I do as I wish. You submit to any wish. And frankly, Olivier, you are far too magnificent a specimen not to share.”
A flicker of confusion passed across his face.
She had no time for that. He had to know his beauty. He wasn’t blind.
“I would brace, chevalier,” she instructed gently.
When her words penetrated, he had only a second to do so before, two hands on the handle of the long, wooden paddle with holes drilled through the wood, she bent her knees slightly, twisted her torso, and put her weight and a considerable amount of strength in the first strike.
Even braced, his body flew forward, the chain at his cock clinked as the slack disappeared, yanking it down violently.
“Fucking hell,” he blew out, automatically swinging back through his recovery.
Thwack!
The second strike had more momentum and he again flew forward, the chain slammed taut, wrenching his cock at the last moment.
“Fucking fuck me,” he ground through clenched teeth.
Marvelous.
Thwack!
After the third strike, she knew they had an audience, of how many, she didn’t care so she didn’t bother to look.
Her entire world was the tethered, muscled body and its cock harnessed and chained to the floor and the man who owned those (for now) named Olivier.
Thwack!
The fourth strike, as he swung back, his big frame shuddering violently, the visual so splendid, Amélie had genuine concerns she could finish his punishment without coming.
She persevered because she had no other choice.
Thwack!
The brutal forward sway, the vicious pull on his cock that was akin to a ferocious hand job, and he couldn’t bite it back anymore.
His exquisite grunt filled the room.
It was music to her ears. It exposed, not with the lilt of pain, but with the edge of pleasure, along with his quick recovery and the almost imperceptible tilt of his ass, that he wanted more.
Thwack!
Another grunt, another pull, another recovery, his body now quaking in his effort to hold back his response.
Thwack!
And again, her nipples so hard she thought they’d pierce the material of her dress at watching him endure his punishment, especially since, with this recovery, the tilt of his ass was not nearly imperceptible.
He offered it proudly, no mistaking it.
It was a silent plea.
More.
The next one, his hips jerked at more than the pull and continued to do so as he shoved back.
Triumph filled her, and with a quick check, she knew what she suspected was true.