She was going to come. Oh fuck . . . She whimpered, conveying the desperation in the plea.
The cry caught in her throat, a near miss. He'd reduced the water pressure, the diabolical man. The water now flowed over her swollen tissues in a languorous stroke that in some ways made it harder to be still. But as Logan moved his mouth back to her cheekbone, the corner of her lips, her lifted jaw, things slowed down, the throb of her body becoming more like a heartbeat, pounding and sure, irrefutable.
Images filled her mind, riding that rhythm. Their first session, where he'd tied her to Troy, her "helping" him train the male sub. Sitting on the tailgate of his truck with her, Logan letting her see his sadness over Veronica's situation, as well as his adamant desire that Madison should never fear him the way the abused sub had feared her Dom. The way he'd backed down Veronica's Master, he and Troy ready to protect them both, with a great deal of violence if necessary. Such things stirred a woman's blood, no matter how barbaric it might seem.
His expression when he made her smile, as if he was the one who'd been given a gift. She thought of the many times she'd visualized Logan at Alice's bedside, caring for her, her primary caregiver, doing what Madison should have been doing. And would have, if her sister had let her know she was sick, or if Madison had paid closer attention to the signs. Except now Madison realized maybe Alice had wanted to go out on her own terms, and part of those terms had included helping Madison find what she'd never been able to find for herself.
Now, in the touch of Logan's hands, in the way she was sure his eyes rested on her, she realized that hadn't been a gift for only one person. If Madison believed Logan, Alice had given him something he hadn't been able to find for himself, either. Just one more time, could she risk her heart? Trust that she'd finally found what she'd always been seeking?
Tears burned in her eyes under the mask. When Logan's thumbs moved over her throat she swallowed beneath his touch, his collar. "I love you," she whispered.
His hands stopped but she shook her head. "Please don't take off the blindfold. I want to be yours . . . I want the fantasy to become the reality."
Would he understand such a strangely worded request, since keeping the blindfold on would seem to be promoting the fantasy? In the end, he was a Master, wasn't he? He understood that some things became far clearer while within the session, things that escaped when they were outside it. If she stayed within it long enough tonight, she could brand it on her soul, so she never lost it. She hoped. There were truths to be found here, and she'd just stepped over the threshold, saying she was willing to accept them, find them in his ownership.
"When I'm done tonight, you'll feel like you've been fucked by ten men," he said, after a long pause, making her breath sigh out in relief. "But they'll all be me. I'm not going to share you. It will always, only, be me. Say it."
"Only you, Master." Her lips curved in tremulous answer, and his hands dropped to her waist. For one blissful instant, he was up against her, his lips at her temple, telling her he understood. That he knew what this moment meant to them both.
He unhooked the thigh straps. "Hold your breath," he said quietly. "And trust me."
"I do."
He pushed her beneath the water, into a thundering world of bubbles. Her knees bent, the ankle straps holding her feet against the opposite bench. The chain pulled against the collar, reminding her of her connection to the world above, but it had enough slack her head came to rest on that bench where she'd been sitting, her backside now suspended in that open area between the two benches. One second, two seconds . . . He caressed her, hands sliding over her breasts, dislodging the wax, rubbing her nipples. She tried to hold her breath rather than strangling at the incredible sensation. Then, slowly, he brought her back up.
She'd trusted him entirely for that, for holding her underwater, and her response to that was powerful. She'd been shaking for a while, but now the feeling had doubled in intensity. He removed the tether attached to her collar, freed her ankles and pulled off the thigh straps, but left her hands cuffed behind her back. Then he scooped her up and brought her out. As he set her down and drew back, she assumed to find a towel, he had to remove his hands from her, step away.
It was then she realized all these revelations were too unsettling. Her knees buckled, a tree without roots.
She didn't even have a chance to call out. He was back in the space of a heartbeat, his body providing her support. He bent and lifted her again, cradling her back so even with her arms pulled behind her, she felt secure. She was soaking wet and against his dress shirt, but he didn't seem to care. Taking her a few steps across the room, he laid her down on her side on a thinly padded table.
He spread a towel over her, gently dried her, head to toe. The sculpting clay had done its job: even after her dunking, her hair still firmly held in that topknot on her head, but he patted the area above the collar, her face, then all over, careful and thorough as if drying a child. She quivered under his touch and thought thoughts no child ever did.
When he was done, even down to rubbing the soles of her feet dry, he unhooked her wrists and turned her on her back. Her ass was on the table's edge, but then she heard a sliding sound, and her legs were fitted into bendable cool metal brace pieces that came out from beneath the table, like stirrups in the doctor's office, only for a far more sexy use. He strapped her ankles, calves and thighs to those brace pieces. Then he bent her legs to a more severe angle, her knees pushed up toward her body, but spread out so her anus and cunt were completely exposed to him on the edge of the table. She was supported and helpless at once, from the waist down.
Of course he wasn't done. He strapped down her upper body as well, her forehead, hips, and above and below her breasts. They were wider strips, padded, so they didn't cut into her as her weight redistributed. He stretched her arms out on braces as well, held them there like bent angel wings.
He had her completely immobilized, at his mercy. She was a little teary, and so aroused she could barely speak. Fortunately he wasn't asking her to recite poetry, though she had a feeling by the time he was done, she'd be speaking in tongues.
He moved away from her again, and she heard him open a drawer, remove something. The tear of foil, possibly a condom being rolled on. Then another scent, the squirt of a bottle. Lubricant being added to the condom, to augment what was already there. The sound of something being snapped in place, and then rolled across what had to be a wood floor, based on the sound of his shoes on it earlier and now.
Touching her pussy lips, he pushed an oiled finger into her to tease her channel with tiny caresses that had her trying to lift up to his touch. She could manage some movement, but her restrained legs kept it to a limited wriggling that seemed to please him, because he put another hand on her breast, gently thumbed the nipple.
"That's my gorgeous slave, all wet and eager for me."
His fingers withdrew, but only to replace them with something else. He began to ease a dildo that felt like flesh into her. Thick, very thick flesh. "This is my friend with the sizeable cock. The one that I would have had stretch your mouth, push down into your throat until he made you gag. Looking at you all tied up like this, he can't resist. He wants your pussy, and he's such a good friend, I won't deny him the gift. No, don't you tense up. You keep moving your hips. He's dripping with lube. You can take him."
It was a credit to his skill, that he could use that mesmerizing voice and her subjugated position, the way it scrambled her brain, to revive the fantasy, despite the fact she knew he was alone with her. She heard the murmur of voices, wondered if he'd turned on a recording, but it didn't matter. Like the auction, there were erratic air currents, as if there were more people in the room, and now it was as if he was talking to his friend, not her.
"She's trained to do this. You can go balls deep in her. How does that feel? Tight as fuck, right? Look at her face. Lips parted, practically begging to take another cock down her throat. She loves serving her Master."
He bore down, kept working it, working it, as it stretched her impossibly, filled her. When she thought she couldn't take a
millimeter more, he stopped, strapped it in place.
"My other friend wants your ass. What do you say to your Master?"
"Yes . . . sir. Please."