"That's it, milaya. Now look at me when you lick it."
Lick? When I gazed up at him and swiped my tongue over the ball, his lids went heavy with satisfaction. So I did it again.
He rubbed the moisture over my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth, then fitted the ball between my teeth. While I tried to get used to the foreign sensation, he fastened the straps behind my head.
Though I'd been gagged, collared, and bound--he wasn't through with the gear. He moved me to lie on my front, then began pulling something else up my legs. Whatever had been in the drawstring bag?
I thought I felt more straps. These didn't seem to be leather--more like . . . elastic? He shimmied them past my calves and knees, then higher, until one hugged each of my upper thighs.
What is this? What could it be? God, the curiosity . . . Maybe it was another dildo like the one he'd used at the club?
When he secured a third strap around my waist, I felt something spongy between my legs. I realized what it was with the first vibration--one of those wearable, remote-control vibrators.
Fitting it snugly over my clit, he turned it on at a frustratingly low speed. "You'll enjoy this." The sensation made me moan against my gag. "But not too much." He set it to pulse on for a brief period, then off for much longer, then on again at that slow, slow speed.
"On your knees," he ordered.
This was really about to happen? Could I actually do this? If I was honest with myself, I'd admit that I trusted him to keep me safe, to take care not to hurt me. Hands still locked behind my back, I made my way to my knees.
"I want you facedown." I heard him stripping behind me.
He could have positioned me to receive him, but he seemed determined to make me participate, to submit at every opportunity. Did he assume my aching horniness would compel me to obey him?
If so, he was right.
Heart racing, I leaned forward to rest my forehead against the bed, leaving my ass up in the air. That vibrator came back on, making my hips roll.
"You always get what you want, don't you? But I hadn't given you your way in this."
He pressed the backs of his hands against my inner thighs. "Spread your legs."
My mind whispered, Step off the trestle, just as he commanded, "Submit to me, milaya." I couldn't resist both my will and his.
The anticipation of what he was about to do to me was maddening. The mere idea of this act . . . with him . . .
When I worked my knees wider, I felt the head of his cock brush along the back of one of my thighs, leaving a distinct trail of dampness. How badly he must want this!
"Do you trust me not to hurt you?"
I had to nod.
"Good." He slapped my bottom again, but this time his palm was wet. With oil? He drizzled a line along my crevice.
When I felt drops trickling directly over his target, the gag muffled another moan. He grazed his forefinger up and down, scarcely making contact with that needy part of me.
Each pass of his finger, he applied a tiny bit more pressure. As the vibrator fired up again, continuing its slow assault on my clit, he pressed hard enough to breach me, just barely.
My groan of frustration made him hiss in a breath. "My greedy girl wants more?"
I nodded my head against the bed, arching my back. The vibrator stopped, and I wanted to cry. By this point, I would have begged him to fuck me there.
With one hand gripping my hip to hold me steady, he started to circle the pad of his finger over my opening, making me drool around the gag.
Waiting . . . waiting . . . Right when the vibrator came back on, he dipped inside to his knuckle.
At last! I moaned at the exquisite sensation. With the vibrator humming, he pumped his finger.
Against the gag, I cried, "More!"
"As you wish." More oil. Deeper penetration. "You think I would hurt you like this? That I wouldn't prepare you?" Another finger joined the first, wedging inside, stretching me.
For what felt like agonizing hours, he gave me shallow pumps. More oil. Deeper. More oil. Wider. Vibrator buzzing on and off.
I was glad of the gag when I began to babble and beg. Please, please, please. I was ready--couldn't be more ready. By the time he removed his fingers, I was nearly insensible.
I heard him squirting more oil. To slather over his heavy length? I could all but see him oiling himself, gliding his big hands across the taut head, the thickened base, along those prominent veins.
I wanted so badly to stroke him, to lick him, anything, but I was helpless. Even without the gag, my mouth would've been ajar, starved for something to suck. Every inch of my body was empty and open, receptive to whatever he wanted to give me. . . .
When the crown kissed my hole, I shook from the jolt of sensation.
"Don't fight me," he groaned. "Let me in." He pressed forward, entering me--just as the vibrator ramped up once more.
Once the entire oiled head was inside, I moaned because it was so good. Better than good.
He delved farther, his girth difficult to accept. Even still, pleasure suffused me the deeper he went.
Between gnashed teeth, he said, "Teper' ti prenodlizhish mne vsetselo." Now I've possessed you. Completely. He sounded as crazed as he'd looked earlier.
I twisted my head around and chanced a look back. His gaze was riveted to where our bodies joined. If eyes could incinerate . . .
Was he overwhelmed like me? How strange; I was bound, vulnerable, impaled--yet he seemed overpowered by this act taking place between us.
I would be sore tomorrow, but he hadn't hurt me. At least, not physically. My eyes pricked with tears.
Once he'd finished with me, he turned to soaping his own body, giving himself a cursory rubdown.
Tears kept forming. I didn't cry often; God knew I was an ugly crier. I squeezed my eyes shut, resenting every drop that escaped, cursing the tremble in my bottom lip.
"Natalie?" His tone aghast, he demanded, "What is this?" He grasped my cheeks, lifting my face. "Why are you crying?"
I opened my eyes but said nothing. Let him see how it feels.