Page 56 of Wanted
Marcus chuckled, soft and low. “Close enough.”
It pushed into her.
Cold, cold, COLD!
Her bowels clamped down, but he was stronger and in the dildo went, shivering her so deeply.
“Roll over, but carefully. If the dildos come out, I’ll find someone in this place willing to loan me a cane and you will be one very sorry little girl before I’m done.”
Shivering, she carefully rolled onto her back and lay down flat, with two inflexible cocks shoved up into her frozen insides. Her tender back ached everywhere the heat had seared her.
“Look at those pretty little nipples.”
She didn’t need to look. They were hard as diamonds and every bit as desperate as her needy pussy.
“Are you cold?” Once more searching her folds until he found her clit, the heat of his fingertips soon had her moaning and squirming again. “Let’s see if we can warm you back up.”
She was so close to coming, despite her shaking and shivering. When he took his hand away, she actually grabbed after his arm.
Just as quickly, he caught her nipples, giving the hard beads a disciplinary pinch. She arched, her back coming up off the table. The glass base of the dildo in her ass bumped into the padding beneath her, pushing it deeper. “Don’t do that again. You think this is difficult to take? I’m doing this for pleasure. Don’t make me turn it into a punishment.”
A hot rush of arousal flooded her pussy, a crazy reaction that was at complete odds with the riot going on in the rest of her.
“Do you want this to be a punishment?” He tweaked her nipples harder, and her hips took on a life of their own, grinding to make the dildo move. Her breath caught, her throat tightening to keep back another moan.
Letting go, he captured a fistful of her hair instead and wrenched her head back, forcing her to meet his stare.
“Do you,” he repeated, softly, dangerously, every nuance charged with an eroticism that made the walls of her core contract on the pseudo cock inside her, “want me to punish you?”
No. Never.
“Yes,” she whimpered.
He tipped his head. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile as he reached down between her legs to take hold of the glass cock in her pussy. She knew she was every bit as wet as she suspected when he stopped, glanced down, and then knowingly locked eyes with her again.
He tsked. “Naughty, naughty, girl. I was going to fuck you with this.” He pumped the dildo, and all she could feel was the cold and the fullness of having two cocks hitting all the right spots as he thrust. “Now I think I need to do something else.”
He plucked the one from her pussy, robbing her of that blessed fullness and dropped the dildo back in the ice water.
Her arousal was unbearable. So was her fear that he would pour the icy water from the vase all over her, but he picked up the batons instead, plucking them from the glass where they had absorbed the alcohol. His warm hand caressed up her torso from her mons, to her breasts, and finally her neck.
She had no personal experience with fire writing, but seeing him with the batons in his hand didn’t frighten her. The ease with which he had them tucked between his first and last fingers, the alcohol-soaked swabs positioned as far as possible apart, said he had more than enough experience to keep her safe.
He lit the first swab on the candle, and the palm of his other hand swept another wandering path over her breasts and belly, caressing the canvas he was about to paint.
Through the ice, she had been so distracted by the cold that she hadn’t noticed the crowd that was gathering, but she noticed them now. Shadowy figures jockeyed for the best vintages from which to watch as he lowered the unlit swap to tap her nipple. The pungent smell of alcohol and the coolness of the damp on her breast was grounding, but only until he flipped his hand and tapped the lit baton to the same spot. Heat and flame ignited on her nipple a heartbeat before he brushed it out with his open hand.
He paused, smile softening as he looked at her. “Was that terrible?”
“No, Sir.”
“Where are you at?”
“Green,” she answered, staring in wonder at her breast. It hadn’t hurt. Not even a little. She’d barely even felt the heat.
Flipping to the unlit baton, he snaked an invisible ‘s’ in rubbing alcohol between her breasts, then lit it. Racing flames followed the pattern he’d drawn before he brushed it out again. This time the heat stayed in her skin, a sharp contrast to the cold of her back and the icy pool her ass was in.
It was pretty. It was warm too, but again it didn’t burn, and once the flame was out, the only sensation that lingered was a faint tingling that might have been nothing more than her hyper awareness of his caressing hand in all the nerves eager for it beneath her skin.
