“That’s going to make you feel so good in a few minutes, Seychelle. I told you I’d think of special things we could do together. You’re going to need my cock like you’ve never needed it before.”
He could see the oil was already beginning to do its job. It had hints of ginger in it. He hadn’t wanted to start her off with ginger right away, but he’d asked Preacher to create something that would set her body on fire for him. Something that would heat up with every movement of her body. He spent a few more minutes spanking her, enjoying the way she writhed and cried, panting and pleading with him.
Savage let up and indicated for her to crawl off the table, moving with her, controlling her actions with the chain leading to the clamps. Every movement sent fire through her ass and over her clit. Her nipples were on fire. By now the oil and the spanking had her desperate for his cock.
With Seychelle kneeling at his feet, he found his beer on the table and deliberately took a long, slow drink. “You want my cock, baby?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“How bad?”
“Need. I need it.”
“There’s a switch over there on the other side of that tree. You can get it and ask me to use it on you. You ask nice and I’ll do it, and then you can have my cock.” He folded his arms across his chest, the action drawing the chain up, forcing her breasts up as well.
She cried out, her breath catching as the clover clamps bit down viciously. “Savage …”
The soft quiver in her voice was an aphrodisiac. Was everything he needed. The liquid glittering like diamonds on her lashes were all his. He jerked his chin toward the spot where he’d left the switch, hoping like hell she’d remember the two little scenarios she’d told him that had turned her on when she’d watched porn. He had re-created them for her, putting his own spin on them.
Her eyes were on his. He could see the blue darkening even more with lust. With need. Yeah, she remembered. Her body was already burning for his. He hadn’t done the things he needed, not yet, but hot blood rushed through his veins at the sight of her kneeling, her round breasts covered in the marks of his hands and teeth, her nipples clamped with those little weights swinging merrily if she dared to move or he tugged on the chain. Her skin was flushed, lungs desperate for air as she panted raggedly, fighting the burning hunger between her legs. He’d known she’d be sensitive to the oil.
She didn’t stand, she simply nodded, her tongue touching her lower lip so that it glistened temptingly, and then turned and began to crawl toward the larger tree that was behind them. It was at the very edge of reach of the firepit, where the light from the flames could reach, but he’d set a low gas-fed lantern in the branches.
Savage walked with her, using the chain like reins, tugging every few steps so that her breasts swayed and she gasped softly as the clamps bit down. The weights pulled her breasts and tugged on her nipples, increasing the flames licking at her body.
“Think about those clamps coming off, baby,” he counseled wickedly. “All that fire rushing through you, consuming you. What a burn. There it is.” He indicated the switch on the ground. He’d swept the ground earlier with a branch of leaves to get rid of the rocks, so when she crawled, she wouldn’t get hurt, but still, the idea of her willingly suffering for him added to the excitement.
A fresh flood of tears on her upturned face rewarded his reminder. She reached down and picked up the slender, flexible switch he’d made and handed it to him. He tugged until she was forced to stand. That made her clench her little red ass, and she made another little cry that sent heat sizzling through his veins like a drug.
“You dreamt of this, didn’t you, baby? Right out here in the open? Someone could walk right up on us, couldn’t they? You wanted this. You have to tell me what you want, baby.”
The switch wasn’t a whip or a flogger, but it would leave the marks he needed, and it would hurt—but it wouldn’t damage her, not like any of the tools he had at home. He’d still have to be careful. He’d need control. He didn’t want this to be over until the dark pool of rage had dissipated enough and he knew Seychelle and everyone else around him were safe.
Seychelle shook her head, but Savage could see how bright her eyes were, the pupils dilated. She wanted this. Anticipated. But the trepidation was there, and it was thrilling. She kept looking at the thin branch he’d shaved so carefully while he’d been sitting at the picnic table, talking with Maestro and Destroyer, and drinking his beer. He’d been anticipating, just like she was now.