I huffed, hopping about. “My right? Can’t it be my left?” I whined.
“Why? Have you injured yourself?” He grabbed my hips, holding me steady.
“No, Sir. It’s just I prefer to balance on my right. I’m right legged and—”
“I want you on your left. Think of it as good practice.”
Damn. I was rubbish at balancing on my right leg at the best of times and worse on my left. He tied rope around my right ankle and attached my ankle to my upper thigh, folding my leg like origami paper. With my redundant leg out of the way, he fastened it in place. I wobbled, swaying about until he pulled on the suspension rope, yanking me up, forcing me to lean forward to keep steady.
“Stop hopping and fix your eyes on a spot on the wall.”
I stared at the implements hanging up on the wall and proceeded to watch as he selected the flogger and cane.
No! How could I plan a three-course meal when he wanted to swing a cane at me?
He worked me over with both, alternating the two, targeting tender spots, chiefly my bottom. I grizzled, peeved at his choice of scene. Unable to find the right mood, I hung there and mumbled my exclamations.
My balance was atrocious, but I had warned him, and no amount of staring at silly spots on the wall would resolve the problem. With teeth gritted and lips pressed together, I let him work his way around my body with various implements before he settled on hanging pegs off my breasts. While my physical body failed to cope, my mental incoherence dithered in a no-man’s land.
He’d begun to strip, and that meant one thing. He delved between my folds, applying cool lubricant around my vagina, testing my elasticity. I shivered, aware of a growing arousal, a need to service him, but was it sufficient? I took a deep breath and focused on his hard cock.
He grunted as he penetrated me. A good sign, I believed. After a slow start, I entered into the spirit of my semi-suspension and drifted, imagining I was driftwood on a wave, the sea crashing down on a golden-sand beach, bathing our bronze bodies.... Then I lost my footing and shrieked in frustration.
The scene wasn’t hanging together well—an ironic declaration. I almost opened my mouth to vocalise my opinion and decided he wasn’t in the mood for my jollity. Jason, in response to my wobbles, tightened the ropes further and held me tight.
He fucked with hard thrusts that rammed into me, his breath cascading across my back. Holding my arms tight he picked up his pace, and I uttered those, “Uh, uh,” sounds as he slapped against me. For some reason, in the absence of an impending orgasm, I planned the whole goddamn meal in my head. The entree course, the main, and dessert. I mentally cooked each dish, running through ingredients and recipes.
“Come for me, Gemma. Now!” he commanded and I tensed, my eyes springing open.
Come! Now? Oh no!
I’d been miles away in my own little world. I hadn’t been paying much attention to my libido; she was cowering under a pile of ropes, forgotten and neglected. Discomforts aside, I wasn’t in pain, and if I’d let my mind wander into my wondrous world of erotic fantasies, instead of the kitchen, I’d probably have been there for him.
My proficiency in the art of coming on demand still had a considerable distance to travel in terms of my successfulness. However, the lack of ability didn’t excuse me from trying.
“Gemma?” he growled, withdrawing and spinning me around on the rope.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m not able to come for you as you would wish,” I blurted.
“Are you in pain?” He crouched down and traced a finger around my hairline. I saw his erection, still engorged and vibrant. He flicked a nipple. “Well?”
God, his cock was quite a magnificent beast, and I wished I could orgasm just by feasting my eyes on the organ.
Shaking my head, I muttered a truthful no. Uncomfortable didn’t mean pain, but I wasn’t floating in some divine soup of subspace.
My eyelids were heavy, drooping over my eyes, and my legs ached with fatigue. Jason, on the other hand, bounced with energy and exuded sexiness, the kind of sex appeal that should have fired me up. I chanced a glance at his startling blue eyes and found, looking back at me, a man who wanted to show me more but was holding his emotions back.
“Tell me.”
“I was cooking dinner.” I flinched, even though he’d not touched me.
“While I was fucking you?” He shook his head, and I stared at the floor.
“Sorry, Master. That I wasn’t able to please you.”
I bit my lip, and tears welled up in my eyes. I hated disappointing him, and nothing seemed to have gone right in my head that evening.
“Babe, I’m trying to help you forget about tomorrow, that Josh isn’t here, and you’re conspiring against me. You’ve done loads of dinners before. Why are you nervous about this one?”