Undulate: Chapter 29

‘This. Is. Your. Reward,’ Zach annunciates. His voice is deep and low and raspy in my ear, and it sends goosebumps scattering across my entire body. Knowing it’s he, and only he, who’ll be feasting on me and fucking me this evening gives me a frisson that not even the prospect of anonymous sex does.

‘Understand?’ he asks.

‘Yes, sir,’ I tell him.

‘Good.’ He stares down at me and grips my jaw, opening my mouth so he can plunge his tongue deep inside me. We stand there for a moment in The Playroom, surrounded by other players but with eyes only for each other. And then he’s pulling his mouth away, and putting a firm palm on the bare skin between my shoulder blades, and pushing me downwards.

I fold my upper body obediently over the leather of the Banquette and stretch my arms out. I’m right at the end, in the same place I was in last time, when Zach secretly went to town on me. He moves around to the opposite side and proceeds to cuff my hands to the shackles attached to the surface.

I rest my chin on the pleather and watch him. This guy may not have admitted to a kinky side before I got my hands on him, but it’s obvious he enjoys this as much as I do. He’s good at it, too. He’s naturally commanding, naturally intimidating in the best kind of way, with his particular brand of intellectual superiority and quiet aloofness.

And I am, naturally, in a pool of lust at his feet already.

When he’s happy I’m secured, he grabs a sleep mask from a nearby tray full of them and slides it over my face. My world goes dark.

‘Enjoy your reward,’ he whispers in my ear, and my heart gives a little pitter-patter. He’s so ridiculous. He has this notion that he owes me for the TLC I gave him on Monday morning, when nothing could be further from the truth. That said, if he wants to fuck his unnecessary guilt out of his system, what’s a girl to do except stand there and take it?

He walks around me, trailing a proprietorial hand over my bottom as he goes, swishing my tassels against my thighs with his fingers. At his request, I’m wearing the black fringed number, and nothing else except a pair of strappy sandals .

Then he’s behind me, pressing his dick against me, and I smile to myself at how hard ‘my’ reward has got him already. He mutters something, but the music is loud tonight and I can’t really hear him. It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is that I can feel him. I can feel the insistent press of his erection through my flimsy dress and his suit trousers. He moves his legs closer and I widen my stance to accommodate him. Then his hands are on my thighs, and my tassels brush my skin sensually as he slides the fringed hem higher, higher, over my bottom.

He smooths his hands over my cheeks. Assessing. Planning what he’ll do with his little plaything now he’s got her all trussed up for him. There’s a shift, the weight of his hands on me growing heavier as he sinks to his knees behind me, and then an experimental finger slices through my slickness from my clit all the way up between my cheeks.

I wonder what he sees.

I wonder how much he likes what he sees.

I wonder if he’ll relax and enjoy himself more this time around, knowing he has my blessing. Or if he’ll miss the frisson of the forbidden. Maybe he’s remembering last time, remembering how it felt to get to his knees that first time, when he’d never touched me properly before and he suddenly found himself face-to-face with forbidden fruit.

My pussy.

He’s still exploring, trying me out as if my body is a new world for him. He dips his fingertip inside my entrance, then slides it back down through my folds and presses it against my clit. Assessing me.

This is what does it for me every time. Being restrained and bent over and exposed for a man—especially this man—to do what he likes with me. To take ownership of my body, to play with my pussy and rub his face in it and fuck it as hard as he likes and then tell me how well I take him, what a good, clever, pliant little thing I am.

Zach’s finger disappears. His breath is warm against my swollen flesh. What is he doing? Why isn’t he licking me already? Instead he’s massaging the small of my back with decadent sweeps. He wedges his other hand under my chest and strums my nipple, and I roll slightly onto my opposite side, granting him access to the greedy little nub. He can’t get my dress down, but he pinches and pulls hard through the thin fabric and I moan at the bolt of pleasure that goes straight to my clit.

Then he’s sliding his hand out, and pushing me back firmly onto my stomach, and using both hands to pull my cheeks apart, opening me up so every hole is on display for him, each needy, secret entrance to my body exposed and ready for however he chooses to breach it.

It’s so erotic, and I need so much more from him. I push my bottom back as much as I can, which isn’t much, and in reward I receive a sound slap on my right cheek.

Ouch. And also, fuuuck.

As he smooths over the spot he just spanked, he takes pity on me and licks me long and slow, front to back.

Oh God.

A flush of arousal hits my entire body. I hope Captain Edger knows what he’s doing tonight, because I won’t be able to last long, and if he’s too busy edging me when my orgasm comes I will be pissed off.

He spanks the other cheek. I practically lift off the table. As he smooths it, he rams two fingers inside me and laves at my clit roughly. I groan in aroused agony and fist my shackled hands as I clench my inner walls around his fingers and attempt to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of this delicious torture.

Then his fingers are leaving me bereft, and he’s getting to his feet and covering my body with his heavenly one as he croons in my ear, ‘I want you to relax and enjoy it, sweetheart, okay? I need to play with you for a while. I’m just getting started. When you absolutely can’t hold on anymore, stomp your right foot hard on the floor and I’ll make you come so hard, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I whimper.

He kisses the corner of my mouth. ‘I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.’

Hmph.

He’d better.

I attempt to relax my body as he slides back down behind me. He’s got me where he wants me; I may as well enjoy the ride.

I take it. I allow every sensation to wash over me. The glide of his hands up my calves, brushing the sensitive spots at the back of my knees before continuing up my thighs. The soft kisses he sprinkles over my bottom and the rough, far too occasional licks he grants my clit. The magical fingers that dip and probe and twist and crook deep within me so fluidly that I must be soaking for him. And, of course, the spanks he alternates with all of these treats.

He finds a rhythm.

Spank.

Smooth.

Kiss.

Finger-fuck.

Lick.

His tongue moves easily through my slick folds, embedding itself in every crease, every crevice as if he owns them. Which, right now in this dark club, he does. He owns every inch of my body, and an uncomfortably large proportion of my soul.

The cadence is hypnotic, and it has the effect of lulling me into a kind of hyper-aroused stupor where the sounds of other people’s pleasure meld into one erotic soundtrack for what’s happening inside my body. I’m an addict, and Zach’s spanks and kisses and licks stoke my cravings higher and higher. All I can really focus on is my next fix, the next time his tongue will hit exactly where I need it.

It seems I’m not the only one at risk of losing control. His licks grow rougher, more lavish, his fingers more desperate as they scissor and crook inside me. My orgasm hovers so close to the surface I’m worried it’ll detonate without me getting what I need. I toss my head from side to side, trying to find relief, grinding my nipples into the leather surface as I do.

And when I can’t hold it anymore, I raise my right foot and stomp down hard on the ground with it. Zach has me so riled that part of me wishes it was his foot I was stomping on. Then I do it again, to make sure my signal reaches him in whatever euphoric, agonised fog he’s in.

It does.

He presses his face against me, his tongue flat and harsh and exactly how I need it, adding a third finger that makes the fit inside me so tight I gasp.

And then he works me. The spanks stop, and he kneads my bottom instead, increasing the pace and ferocity of his licks and his finger-fucks until the heat that’s been building inside me all this time completely engulfs me, in huge waves that overwhelm my body and detonate my mind like a fucking atomic bomb.

As I ride out my orgasm I rut my backside into Zach, shuddering against that mouth and those fingers, both of whom keep up their punishing onslaught on my pussy. I’m sightless, weightless, floating in a vacuum of pure, heavenly sensation.

My climax subsides and instantly Zach’s getting to his feet behind me. He keeps one hand on my hip, and then his dick is free, and bare, his blunt crown positioned right where it belongs for a second before he drives home in a single thrust.

Oh my God. I’m so wet, so primed for him, but he’s so huge that my body can’t help but brace against the invasion. He stills inside me, allowing us both a moment to adjust to the perfect snugness of our fit. And then he’s bending over me, crushing me between his weight and the ottoman so I feel perfectly insulated from the playful world around us.

Here, in this space, only Zach and I exist.

‘Feel how hard you made me when you came on my tongue?’ he rasps in my ear.

I groan out a yes, incapable of anything more.

‘You’re every man’s fantasy, Mads.’ He pulls out and slams back in hard, and any remaining air leaves my lungs as I take his dick. ‘Bent over like this, your pussy begging to be fondled and fucked. Should I let someone else have a go?’

‘No,’ I moan.

He runs his lips along my jaw as he rolls his hips, filling me and teasing me. ‘Why?’

I steel myself to tell him the truth. A truth that’s been branding itself onto my conscious for a while now, and which has burnt brightly in my soul since this weekend.

‘Because nobody else makes me feel as good as you do.’

His inhale against my ear is sharp. Shocked.

I hope I haven’t freaked him out. After all, he hooked up with me because I’m the blasé party girl who’s always up for anything with anyone. I was an easy, unthreatening option for a man like Zach who’s finding his feet again in the world. He’s not in the market for any kind of neediness, even if my neediness is mainly pussy-based.

But then he whispers a vicious Good before smoothing my hair off my shoulders. He kisses the bare skin of my upper back before moving down my body and driving into me.

It seems my needy declaration has poked the bear. His hands are everywhere. Roaming, kneading, pinching like he can’t get enough of my back, my bottom, my thighs. His thrusts are smooth and rolling, and there’s an air of possession in the way he fucks me over and over, thoroughly and confidently. I’m not sure if he’s trying to prove me right, or if I’ve turned on his inner caveman with my little you’ve ruined me for all other men admission.

Who gives a flying fuck? All that matters is that Zach’s got me blindfolded and restrained and he’s giving me everything he has, and fuck if it isn’t almost more than I can handle. I have nowhere to go in this position; my pelvis is right up against the side of the ottoman and every time he slams into me and bottoms out, everything south of my stomach cramps and contracts and flutters.

My second climax is building; I’m so in need of release and my only outlet is adding my own whimpers to the cacophony of pleasure that ebbs in and out of my consciousness. I moan and I pant and I wriggle and I take the punishing impact of Zach’s cock again and again as heat washes over me once more and the pressure builds deep inside my body.

When my orgasm hits, it’s elemental and wondrous, a thing of such power, such beauty that my soul is catapulted far, far above this room to a place that’s all light and stillness. I’m conscious only of Zach following me over the edge, shuddering and jerking out his release deep inside me as his hands rake over the bunched-up fabric at my waist and grip the bare skin of my hips, making me take every last drop. Every last thrust.

And when he comes to a halt and lays his body over mine, his knuckles stroking my cheek, I’m spent. I absorb every pulse of his heartbeat against me, and his cock inside me, as I come down from my own transcendent journey beneath him.

But it’s his words, rather than his actions, that unravel me completely.

‘I have a confession to make,’ he murmurs in my ear as our heart rates return to normal.

I close my legs together, clamping him inside me for as long as I can, not wanting him to leave me empty and bereft. ‘What’s that?’

‘I’d give anything,’ he says, ‘to take you home with me and curl myself around you all night.’