I’m trussed up on the St Andrew’s cross, my underwear gone, my arms up and my legs wide, leather cuffs holding me in place. I’ve been on these things a few times. I’ve been positioned like this, my back to the cross, and also facing into the cross so guys can play with me from behind.
Both ways are sexy as fuck. But none of the previous times have been as arousing as now, when I’m so badly in need of an orgasm I could pass out and it sounds like Zach Mc Slave Master has himself enslaved me on this contraption with Ben’s help. Ben’s low instructions to Zach as they did it were just audible over the sexy beat of the music.
I can’t believe Zach’s going for this: the kink factor, the bondage, the public setting, the promised corporal punishment, the multiple guys. I wouldn’t have pegged him for any of this, especially the multiple guys part. He definitely doesn’t strike me as a sharer. Still, he sounded as turned on as I felt when he whispered all that stuff in my ear just now.
It strikes me suddenly.
He’s doing this for me.
Because he knows I like it.
He’s just paid through the nose for me, yet he’s choreographing our entire evening around my desires. None of this is his thing. But he’s got it the wrong way around. The whole point of our little arrangement is that it’s for his benefit, not mine. Sure, I’m very up for all the multiple orgasms at the hands of a gorgeous, repressed, wounded guy, but I’m the one who proposed he use my body to sate his needs. Slay his demons.
I’m awash with the warm glow of gratitude, of appreciation, for this man. That he’s not making me choose. That I get to have him tonight within the context of this crazy, sexy circus I adore so much.
Then he’s in front of me again. It feels as though he’s cranked the cross up slightly so we’re the same height, because he leans in and brushes a chaste kiss over my lips. His mouth trails butterfly kisses over my cheek before pressing against my ear.
‘I have you exactly where I want you,’ he murmurs, and in that moment I vow to make this the best fucking night of his life.
I will do anything to give this man an outlet for his grief and his pain. To heal him with my body, if only for an evening.
I turn my head. ‘Do everything to me, sir. Please.’
My words trip a switch. He groans. ‘Too fucking right I will.’ He nips at my ear before capturing my mouth, biting down on my lower lip so hard I whimper in shock.
Then he’s kissing me, fucking my mouth with his tongue as his hands drag greedily down my neck and over my breasts. They tweak my nipples hard and splay over my stomach. He rubs his knuckles into the palms of my hands before dragging his fingernails over the leather cuffs and down the sensitive underside of my arms. He’s roaming, exploring, learning every inch of my body.
And all I can do is take it. I stand there, held in my state of crucifixion, my arms and legs shackled and my breasts thrust out for him and my clit throbbing with the need for his touch and the blindfold ratcheting every other sense sky-high.
The feeling is indescribable. I’m spread out for him, every part of me as exposed as it can possibly be, and he’s kissing and licking and sucking on my body like it’s the most glorious feast. His mouth, his hands, are everywhere now, and I’m helpless, weightless, suspended under his touch. Under the ardent way he’s devouring me.
His mouth is back at my ear, his body pressing right up against me. His breath is hot, his belt buckle invasive against my stomach, his shirt crisp against my sensitised nipples. I shimmy from side to side to rub harder, and he laughs softly. He’s got the beginnings of stubble, and it brushes abrasively against my jaw. I know exactly where I need that, and it’s not on my fucking face.
‘Trying to make yourself come?’
‘I need to,’ I gasp.
‘Unfortunately, you’re not in charge.’ He squeezes his hands between us to tease my nipples. ‘I am.’
I let out a frustrated groan and he laughs again.
Excellent.
I’ve gone and got myself sold off to a champion edger.
‘But you’re doing so well,’ he croons. ‘Best slave girl I’ve ever owned.’
Desire and warmth wash over me. ‘Really?’
‘Definitely the sexiest.’ He thrusts against my pelvic bone. He’s hard again, and he’s nowhere near enough to my clit for me to come properly, but I’m on a knife-edge here. ‘And you give excellent head.’ Thrust. ‘But let’s see how obedient you are for me and my friends, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I agree with indecent haste, and the sadistic fucker chuckles before pulling back.
There’s a moment where I’m left literally hanging, before I feel hands on me. Ben must be one of them, right? And Zach, obviously. But I don’t know who else, and yet it feels like more than two people. I cannot believe Zach is capable of sharing nicely. Either he’s the world’s most altruistic guy when it comes to my desires, or he’s willing to overlook his usual tastes in favour of getting me truly amped up.
There are hands sliding up my calves. Squeezing just south of my wrist cuffs. Palming my stomach. Pressing against my inner thighs. Someone’s behind me, tugging my hair back and stroking my collarbones. The countless touches feel glorious. Having this many hands on me feels so right as to be life-affirming.
This is where I’m meant to be. This is true consciousness. There is nothing like this, nothing like being truly present and exquisitely aware of every caress. Every stroke.
The only problem is the touches are too gentle. These guys aren’t grabbing or pinching or kneading. They’re massaging and stroking, softly and sensually and almost—goddammit—respectfully.
Fuck that.
I need more. I need them to devour me.
Their soft kisses hit my skin in a million places, and I shiver in delight and need. Someone—and it had better be Zach—has his mouth pressed just above the top of my landing strip. His lips brush over the thin skin there, unleashing a swarm of butterflies below the surface. I shudder out an exhale and try to hold my shit together, because this glorious and totally fucking inadequate symphony of touch has every nerve ending in my body on fire.
As I’m drifting into a haze, a stupor of unmet need, a warm mouth flicks at one nipple. Then the other. Its touch is fleeting. Divine. I sigh. A moment of awareness hits me. Of how this tableau must look to everyone else in the club who’s watching. Me, affixed to my cross, naked and blindfolded, my arms and legs outstretched in surrender, and God knows how many men tending to me. Crawling all over me. I swear, the image in my mind is as powerful an aphrodisiac as the sensations of their touch.
The mouth at my pelvis—Zach’s mouth—grazes lower. His upper lip drags against my skin as he goes. The hands on my inner thighs—also, presumably, his—press them open as far as they’ll go. Much as I love being strung up on this thing, it doesn’t allow for much flexibility.
I need Zach’s mouth on my aching cunt so badly that I’d rather be on my back, my knees pushed back so my body’s folded right in half for him. So he could get that tongue of his in every fold. Every crevice. But I’m so aroused I’ll take anything.
Oh, God. I’ll definitely take this—the first blessed touch of his tongue as it slices through me, albeit far too lightly for my needs.
His hands sliding up my thighs so he can hold me open to him right at my very centre.
Thick, lubed-up fingers—not his, as far as I can tell, reaching between my legs from behind, one dipping inside me and one testing the puckered ring further back. Again, their touch is too light. Too tentative.
A couple of mouths, hands, go to my breasts. They’re gently cupped. My nipples have featherlight kisses bestowed upon them.
Someone else is softly, softly stroking my stomach.
This continues for seconds. Minutes. I’m writhing in my shackles, moaning and whimpering desperate pleas, to no avail.
And it’s fucking torture. I have God knows how many guys ministering to me—four? Five?—and what a fucking waste, because instead of sating me, they’re tormenting me. The hands and the mouths are teasing me, winding me higher so gradually, so carefully, that I’m almost tempted to employ the safe word.
I use what little brainpower I have available to console myself with the fantasy of screaming spreadsheet! at the top of my lungs. They’d have to untie me, and then I’d rugby-tackle Mr Spreadsheet McSexy to the ground before clamping my thighs on either side of his handsome head and violently grinding my pussy into his face till he gave me my fucking orgasm.
Jesus.
I knew he was an edger, and he’s somehow managed to commandeer an edger army in minutes. I’m vaguely aware of a woman’s voice screaming in ecstasy nearby. Glad someone’s having some fun around here.
‘Please,’ I insist, more loudly now. God, I both hate and love how needy my voice sounds.
Zach rubs a welcome finger up my slit and pulls his mouth away. ‘But you’re doing so well,’ he insists. ‘My little slave girl is such a beautiful sight. You have no fucking idea how you look shaking for us like that.’
He’s right. I am shaking. And I am doing so well. His praise delivers a much-needed dopamine hit, and I focus on lapping up every single touch. Of revelling in the sheer pleasure of it rather than willing it to speed up.
He dips his head to my pussy again, opening me even wider with his fingers as his tongue swirls around my poor, swollen clit with infinite care, and Jesus Christ. I’m in danger of coming just from this touch, but it won’t be the orgasm I need.
I’m practically in tears. ‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. ‘Oh my God. I can’t—I can’t—’
He must hear the piteous note in my voice, he must sense how close he is to breaking me, because he breaks away from my pussy again and says, ‘Now. Hard.’
The anonymous hands take instant heed. They go from nought to sixty in seconds.
Squeezing my breasts.
Laving roughly at my nipples.
Several fingers driving harshly inside me, filling me exactly how I need, as one breaches my rear entrance slickly, plugging me there, too.
And finally, blessedly, Zach stretches me wide open, making his tongue flat and licking my clit as roughly as he can as his fingers stroke through my folds. His stubble is abrasive, sharp, even, as he works, and it all adds up to the most extraordinary, incalculable wave of sensation. Licking. Sucking. Rubbing. Finger-fucking. I’m being worked everywhere, my arms and legs are aching from their restraints but every erogenous zone is singing as these men play my body exactly the way it needs to be played. Someone sticks a couple of fingers in my mouth, and I moan and suck hard.
It’s so heady. Even without my sight—or possibly because I’m lacking it—it’s a sensory overload. Music and pleasure assault my ears, as do the pleased, aroused grunts of the guys around me. The wood of the cross is cool and smooth against the back of my limbs while the rest of my body burns brightly. Just as it was made to do.
The pleasure ratchets right up, so quickly my head is spinning and my body floods with the molten heat that’s been lying latent for I don’t know how long, and all I can think is yes, there, right there as every part of me that needs it is profaned.
I want this to go on forever.
My orgasm spins, tornado-like, through my body, engulfing me, my position and restraints offering no reprieve, no escape, and I’m gone. It peaks, and I’m convulsing and crying out and sagging on my cross as I attempt to accommodate the extraordinary sensory assault.
My head drops forward. I’m instantly, utterly spent and emptied out in the most perfect possible way. I’m aware of Zach’s tongue leaving my clit, of his mouth moving up my body as the other hands subside, and of him burying his face in the crook of my neck.
‘Well done,’ he grits out. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, you were so perfect. God, you took that so well. I could have done that forever.’
I laugh-groan, unable to form words.
‘I know.’ He kisses my neck, dragging his teeth over my skin as his hands squeeze greedily down my sides, and I’m reminded that however frustrated I was during that relentless build-up, he must be ready to explode.
He steps back. ‘You can uncuff her,’ he says, and the next thing I know, my blindfold is being slid off.
My lips part, because there in front of me, inches from my face, is Zach.
And I have never seen a sight like it.
Because his dark hair is mussed, and his black shirt is possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and his gorgeous, full lips still bear the lustre of my arousal.
But best of all is the way he’s looking at me. Those impossibly blue, black-lashed eyes shine with admiration, and desire, and barely controlled emotion.
As if I’m the only woman who exists on this earth.
As if he can’t believe I’m real.
And in that moment, I know my worries that Zach is doing this for me and not for himself are unfounded.
I know whatever blissful bubble of good, old-fashioned sexual desire I’m floating in right now, he’s right there with me. He’s tapped into his own dark side in order to cater to mine. However he’s done it, he’s managed to get out of his own way, and it’s serving him.
I have him.
For now.
We’re in this together.
We stare at each other in wonder and disbelief. In the intimacy we’ve created between us, no matter who else just played a part in this scene. He reaches up and uses his thumb to gently wipe at what are probably mascara smudges under my eyes. Someone uncuffs one of my hands, and then another, and I flex them stiffly before wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
He holds me tightly at the waist as my ankles are unshackled. Once I’m free, he grabs me under my bottom and I wrap my legs around him like a koala. He’s fully clothed. His cock, I notice, is zipped back up. I grind my pussy against his heavenly fabric-clad hardness as I lower my mouth to his.
‘The next part is for me,’ he murmurs against my mouth. ‘I haven’t finished getting my money’s worth yet.’
