Mr. Beautiful

I pulled back, and my hands trembled as I cupped her face in my hands, my eyes searching hers desperately for what I wanted to see.  Need.  Yes.  She needed this as much as I did.  More so.

"Get on the bed," I told her thickly.

She obeyed, backing away from me, keeping her eyes on me the entire time.

"On your back.  Spread your legs.  Wider.  Arms above your head."

We were at the Vegas property, no fourth floor in sight, and so I only had to walk to a dresser to find what I needed.

I was uncharacteristically clumsy as I bound her to the bed.  I wanted so badly for everything to be perfect, to the point that I was nervous about it.

Her arms went directly above her head, drawn together, and knotted to the headboard.

Her feet I drew wide apart, spreading her legs until I stretched her.  I ran a finger across one tautly drawn inner thigh, shuddering in pleasure at the way it made her quake under my hands.

I bent and kissed the spot briefly.  "So sensitive here," I murmured into her skin.  I knew just where to start.

I stood back and watched her when I'd finished with her restraints, my lids heavy, my blood pounding.

Every ounce of nervousness left me at the sight.  The sight of her bound both soothed and enflamed me.

She gazed back at me steadily, her body shifting restlessly, h*ps tilting, br**sts heaving, pink flesh wet and exposed.

I chose a simple leather flogger, a delicate cat o'nine, to break her back in again.

I propped myself on an elbow between her legs, dragging the flogger's thin tails along the sheets, teasing it across her inner thighs.

Abruptly, I snapped it up and back, watching her face as I struck the bed.

She jerked, giving me wild eyes when she realized I hadn't touched her.

I gave her a smile that made her squirm, back to dragging the tails against her sensitive flesh, back and forth, from knee to groin.

The torment of anticipation was every bit as sweet as the bite of the whip.

My c**k pulsed, my heart pounded.

With a wicked grin, I snapped the tails against the bed again.  Hard.

She gasped, h*ps circling.

I trailed the flogger up her leg, passed it briefly over her sex, moving it toward her belly.

I met her eyes as I flipped it, suddenly and abruptly, whipping it back to lash her inner thigh with a quick flick of my wrist.

She jerked and moaned.

I swung my wrist again, catching her other thigh, then slowly, almost lazily, I began to whip it back and forth.

I never rose off my elbow, never used my other hand as I slowly tenderized her pale flesh.

It was not a punishment.  We had worked beyond that.  This was so much more than the usual game of bondage and submission.

Bianca was a purist of the form, a masochist that enjoyed being dominated sexually.

We needed no artifice, no little lines to justify the things we needed from each other.

I looked down at her thighs, watching the whip as I set to work on her in earnest.

Her inner thighs, from a few inches above her knees to just below her groin, were pink with lash marks by the time I finished.

Even so, she didn't want me to stop.  She moaned out a protest when I so much as paused.

I shot her a chastising look as I leaned forward, shifting until my mouth hovered over her slick flesh.

With a soft groan of my own, I bent down and started sucking hard on her clit.

She was primed already and came screaming with a few rough pulls of my mouth.

I'd reached my limit, as well.

I rose from my lazy elbow, climbing up her body.  I left her bound while I f**ked her rough, sucking her tongue while I drilled my hard length into her soft body repeatedly.

I pulled back to watch her face as her cunt began to clench around me, I shoved harder into her, rocking my h*ps from side to side to jar along her walls.

I came hard.

I rocked into her roughly and shot deep inside, rubbing out every bit of my seed, letting her milk me to the last drop.

She'd be sore tomorrow; every shift of her body would remind her how I'd taken her repeatedly through the night.  Remind her of my total ownership of her body.

It was only fair.  After all, she had claimed complete ownership of my soul.

It was minutes later, when I'd caught my breath that I got off her and went to the closet.

When I came back, I paused to take her in for a long time.  She was still bound, body limp, eyes sleepy but on me.

I opened the large jewelry box in my hands, watching her face.

She gasped.

I took her delicate collar out, approaching the bed.  I climbed between her legs, to hover over her prone form, propping myself on one elbow, setting the collar against her chest with the other.

"Are you ready to wear this again?"

Her eyes were pure liquid on mine.  Enough so to drown in.  "Always," she said, with relish.  "I never wanted to take it off."

I hadn't wanted that either.  They'd cut it off, in fact, in the hospital.  I'd had to have extensive repairs done to it, but it was as beautiful as ever.

I moved up her body to straddle her, using both hands to fasten it, my fingers smoothing over it.

"Aren't you going to lock it?" she asked.

That warmed my chest.  Her willingness.  Her enthusiasm for a thing that had once intimidated her.

I smiled into her eyes.  "Of course, love."

I had to untie her to get at her nape.  She bent forward eagerly, flipping her hair out of my way.