Page 81 of At Her Will

The story she’d told Rev about skin colors came back to her now, the truth of it in all the gleaming hues of his muscled flesh. She also thought of the religious parts of their discussion, and Rev’s opinion, that her views didn’t change his, but there was room for both.

There was room for so much, if the heart only opened to it. She wanted to be open to everything this could give her.

She came to stand before him. His eyes were closed, as she’d commanded, but his nostrils flared, the ripple through his muscles telling her he was aware of her presence.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Rev.”

His attention climbed her in that intent way that made her feel as if his touch was following the same path. Her lingerie was a peach-colored replica of a 1930s Cadolle. The one-piece garment had a thin lace bra, her nipples pressing against the semi-transparent cloth. The fabric below her breasts to the swell of the hips looked like a boned corset, though the stretch material had no back lacings. A short lace skirt fell from its edge to mid-thigh and barely covered her ass. Under it, she wore nothing.

The outfit was comfortable and meant to tempt, with what her movements would reveal or hide. What it covered would be offered at her pace, while he could only gaze hungrily at it. If she allowed that.

She’d unrolled a mat in front of the fire, and put out a picnic basket containing a coil of rope, a long curling feather, and a set of chimes. She was certain the time she’d given Rev to look atthose items and consider their uses had kept his erection flushed and stiff.

Vera sat down in the chair next to the fireplace, a fussy thing with button held cushions. She perched on the edge, her back straight.

As she’d told Rev, in Tantric practice, riding the wave of arousal, experiencing it indefinitely, expanded the body’s ability to experience sexual pleasure. Satisfaction was a never-ending current, not a destination.

Rev had said he could give her the whole day.

An eye bolt was embedded in the ceiling, several feet back from the front of the fireplace. She kept a rope of braided black nylon threaded through it. The two tasseled ends looped over hooks on either side of the fireplace, so the rope framed the carved mantel in a three-dimensional way.

“Rev, unhook the rope ends, and bring them to me.”

Watching the flow of his muscles, the flexing of his ass, thighs and shoulders, the movement of his erect cock, added to the strength of that current. She wanted to stroke and cup his testicles, taste his cock, bite that strong body.

As she tapped her nails against the chair arms, she counseled patience to her bucking libido.

She’d put in the rope setup for a planned session with Whistler, when he cleaned her house. It had been a memorable scene, so she’d kept it in place, though she’d only made use of it that once. She hung ornaments from the silken ropes at Christmas. A true home “pervertible” had more than one use.

At one of their monthly dinners Vera had hosted, she remembered Skye letting her fingers trail along the ropes before giving Vera a playful look and hopping onto the couch, her feet tucked up under her as they settled in to enjoy dessert and after dinner conversation. Her friend had probably been imagining doing something similar at Tiger’s place. He had a fireplace, too.

When Rev brought her the rope ends, she glanced at her feet and he dropped to one knee. “Cross your wrists and present them to me.”

Using one end, she bound his wrists with three wraps around both then two loops in between to hold them secure. It wouldn’t tighten and cut off circulation, but she’d keep an eye on it. “Can you back up on your knees, Rev?”

“Never tried that, but I’ll do it for you, Mistress.”

“Move until you’re under the ceiling bolt, then stand up and lift your hands over your head.”

As he did, she drew in the slack, until it pulled taut, his arms lifted above him. She kept him flat on his feet, though, and tied off the rope on the hook by the fireplace before turning to look at him.

Cock thick and hard, chest expanding with the rise and fall of his quickened breath. He was responding the way a submissive did who wanted the restraint and all it could mean. The pulse point between her legs was hammering.

Vera returned to her chair, moving the footstool so she could brace one foot upon it, which tilted her hips upward. He could confirm it was just her under the skirt. As she dropped the straps off her shoulders, she pushed the bodice down enough to reveal the dark circle of the areolae, though the lace still hung temptingly on the aroused peaks.

“What you doing, Mistress?” Rev asked hoarsely.

“I’m going to touch myself until I climax. You’re going to listen. Close your eyes.”

When he stared at her in disbelief, she showed him a wicked smile. “Mistresses love that look, Rev. Like you’ve had something taken away that you wanted more than you could ever have imagined.”

“That a good description. I want to watch you.”

“Prove to me that obeying me is more important to you than anything else, and you may get that privilege. Do I need to blindfold you?”

“No ma’am.” With obvious reluctance, he closed his eyes. His muscles twitched, making the rope sway, the black braid shimmering in the flame’s light.

Humming her approval, she began to stroke herself. With the shifts of her body, the little moans, tiny pleas caught in her throat, she made sure he could vividly imagine what he couldn’t see. His body was a column, hands clenched, mouth thin, and he kept licking his lips. Precum glistened at the slit of his cock, and his thighs flexed. Toes curled into the rug.

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