She turned back to him. “You seem to have a good deal of stamina.”
“Amélie … Mistress, I don’t think you’re gettin’ that I seriously find you not hard on the eyes.”
She bent closer, as intended for this part of their session, some of her hair falling on his chest in another caress. She did this letting her amusement show, if not all of the emotion she felt at his compliment.
“I wonder, mon chou, if you think you can butter me up with compliments.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Though not sure why I’d bother since I didn’t give you one and you just made me shoot a huge-ass load the likes that have never come from my cock.”
“And he gives another compliment,” she said through a smile.
“You earn it, I’ll say it,” he replied, his lips twitching. “That is, if I’m physically capable of speech.”
She was still smiling when she reached out a hand and delicately traced circles around his nipple.
His eyes darkened.
Her good humor increased.
“You’re of course aware I should do something about you being so audaciously cheeky.”
Another darkness crossed his face. “What?”
“I shouldn’t allow you to be cheeky with me.”
“Cheeky?”
“Impudent,” she explained.
The look fled. “You mean, in uppity, hot-chick speak, a wise-ass.”
Amélie couldn’t help it, she laughed softly.
“She’s got a pretty laugh, too, to go with that pretty accent,” he murmured and she saw his eyes on her lips.
I could get lost in this one, she thought. Lost and never found.
She had the thought with no fear.
The fear she felt was at the hope that struggled to break through. The hope that their future held something outside of a playroom.
“Just sayin’, Mistress,” he stated her title like it was a nickname, something forbidden at the same time immensely alluring, “you don’t want me to be a wise-ass, might be best not to invite me back to your barn. Think it’s a part of me you can’t get rid of by paddling my ass.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, smiling at him with her eyes.
“Amélie, I’m totally hard and shit is getting serious down there,” he whispered.
She looked that way.
He did not lie.
She turned her attention back to his face and swept the hair off his forehead, running the tips of her nails down his hairline.
Obviously in a certain mood, a giving one, an acquiescent one, one she liked a great deal, he turned his head and kissed her palm.
This tender gesture came as a pleasant surprise and it made her bend farther to him. He held still as she ran the tip of her nose down the length of his.
That bump at the bridge, God, it was insane but she could fall in love with it.
Controlling the movement so it wasn’t jerky at her growing-more-intense-by-the-second reaction to him, she pulled back.
“I ask you not to come, please,” she ordered. “If you need to take a break, do. I’ll let you know when you can give me your seed.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She gave him another smile and then set about the serious business, for her, of this session.
That was touch.
And taste.
In an epic journey of discovery, she lavished his body with attention. Touches as light as a feather. Scrapes of her nails. The whisper of lips. The sweep of her hair. Nibbles.
She mixed this randomly with rougher handling, the dig of her thumbs in his biceps, the scratch of her nails, the light twist of a nipple, sinking her teeth in his flesh enough he could feel the bite, but it wouldn’t leave a mark.
It was with delight that she discovered him exceptionally responsive.
She found he had the usual sensitivity behind his ears and along the vulnerable strain of muscles down the sides of his neck, but farther, in the dip of his collarbone.
He also liked to have the lobes of his ears nipped.
His nipples responded to touch, but she discovered she’d need further exploration during sessions for they didn’t elicit the response she’d expected. They’d need rougher play, pulled, twisted, clamped.
He had quite a lovely reaction to her digging her nail in the thick line of hair that led to his shaft just above and below his navel.
He was unsurprisingly, but deliciously more than normal, sensitive at the juncture of his thighs, her attention there with fingers, nails, and tongue taking his fisting of his cock to extremes before he’d stop, puffing out rapid exhalations of breath.
Inner and back thighs charmingly responsive, as were the backs of his knees. The fronts, not as much.
Tugs on his pubic hair brought a hiss that drowned a groan.
He liked that.
As did she.
She’d take that monster of a cock in her mouth on another, special occasion.
But when she’d noticed his body was taut with his increasing need for release, she finished her discovery, saving the best for last.
Laving his harnessed balls, sucking one, then the other, gently into her mouth, caused his hips to buck.
She watched, building her own need, the pull of his fist stretching the root of his cock as she relentlessly focused her attention on his sac.
As she did this, she found she liked his musk.
He wore aftershave and she liked that too.
But here, down here, the seat of his meat, he smelled divine.
“Amélie.”
There it was. The need.
She took one firm, final suckle of his ball sac, hearing his hushed explosion of, “Fuck me,” before she lifted away from him but came to his left side.