Home > The Deep End (Honey #1)(17)

The Deep End (Honey #1)(17)
Author: Kristen Ashley

He was coming.

In rapid succession, but with equal intensity, Amélie finished his strikes. She did this watching with a fervor that she knew was complete adoration as he lost all control. Surging forward, grunting, flexing back, offering his ass, his legs shaking, his hips automatically thrusting his cock into the restraining harness like it was a pussy, his extraordinarily large offering of cum gliding down his chain.

When she was done, he was forehead to the floor, body quivering, hips still weakly thrusting through the aftermath of his orgasm.

She went to stand between his ankles and reached between his legs with the paddle, caressing his balls and cock with the flat of the wood.

And he gave his Mistress more.

Promptly angling back, he pressed down, accepting the caress and straining to deepen it.

He’d accepted his punishment so well, given her so much, it was time for a reward.

She shifted the paddle up, adding pressure against his sensitive organ, giving him what he needed.

He rode it, milking his dick in his harness, the final rivulets of cum gliding down his chain, and good God, good God, he was sheer perfection.

She continued to coddle his cock and balls with the paddle as she reminded him quietly, “It’s customary to thank your Mistress for her ministrations.”

His voice came deep and hoarse, spent, pleasured, but fucking blissfully unbroken as he hesitated a delicious moment before he murmured, “Thank you, Mistress Amélie.”

She liked her name in that tone too.

“You were magnificent, Olivier,” she told him.

She watched his shoulders slump and he settled back into his calves, not with shame. He’d come so hard, his body was forced to recuperate.

She carefully glided the paddle out from between his legs, twisted it, and ran the edge of its tip hard along the exposed crevice of his ass, stopping at his hole, pressing gently.

Another test. One it was essential he passed.

He passed.

Going inert at first, he then pressed back just as gently.

Another offering.

She gathered control and when she accomplished this, she whispered, “Well done, my beast.”

His hips flexed, juddering either at her words or an aftershock of coming, but he said nothing.

She removed the paddle from his exposed crease and walked swiftly to the table, her heels making dull sounds against the boards. She dropped the paddle there and then she moved to the control panel.

Stellan was outside at the window, just next to the door, the best view Amélie knew bar none in the house. A female sub was on her knees beside him, leaning against his leg, both were watching.

His eyes were not on Olivier, they were on Amélie.

She lifted her chin in acknowledgment, her friend looked down to it, and she flipped the switch that would bring both sheer and black screens down.

She moved back to Olivier, crouching in front of him.

“Chevalier,” she called.

He didn’t lift his shoulders, just tipped his head back.

Those eyes sated, warming her deep in her belly, the power of this statement when he could only tip back his head that she’d exhausted (perhaps temporarily, but she’d done it) this incomparable steed, was nearly her undoing.

It deserved another reward.

“I have not had a toy make me this wet in longer than I can remember.”

His eyes rounded, his mouth softened.

“You are so beautiful, it’s hard to believe,” she said softly.

“Amélie,” he replied but said no more.

The game was this. There was a reason he fought it. He had clearly not had a Master or Mistress who’d guided him in any permanent way around it (thankfully). He was intelligent enough to recognize he needed it as well as the importance of keeping it and he was courageous enough that he didn’t allow the shame to keep him from seeking it.

He fought it, but when that flip was switched, he submitted to it spectacularly.

She didn’t know if she wished to protect the beast that fought it so she could battle that beast (something she deduced the ones that had gone before her had done) or if she wanted to break him so she could take him straight to where he needed to be.

Or, to be precise, she didn’t know which one he wanted.

It would be a puzzle she’d enjoy solving.

“I’m going to go home, doing this directly, and I’m going to touch myself, thinking of every moment with you. And I will come hard, my beast.” She smiled at him and his eyes locked on her mouth. “Just visualizing that big brute of a cock you’re hung with might take me over the edge.”

“Let me eat you,” he said quickly. “I’ll stay strapped,” he offered, like that was his choice.

Seeing as it obviously was not, it was an odd thing to say.

“Perhaps another time,” she replied.

His reaction was gratifyingly quick, exposing he wanted another time to happen.

As it would at this juncture—his cock still snugly harnessed, his cum still dripping down his chain.

She just hoped he wouldn’t go home and think differently.

It wasn’t about convincing him not to do that. It was his choice. She only had to give him the honest her so he could make the right decision.

It came with a thread of tortured when he forced out, “I can smell you.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she agreed.

“I want that,” he told her.

She was utterly delighted he did. She would relish the time when he’d earned her forcing his face between her legs, commanding him to make her come.

   
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