Page 33 of A Secret and a Lie
“Why? Why are you going to come for me again, even though you’re oversensitive and on the edge?”
Genevieve’s eyes widen a fraction, and I know this is affecting her, at least I hope it is since it’s affecting me.
How many orgasms could I draw from Genevieve if I tied her down? I wouldn’t be hands-free with her, though. I’d want to position the wand right where I wanted it, so I could control every facet of her climax. I’d sit between her legs, watching as her pussy spasmed and arousal dripped steadily from her, pooling beneath her. I’d force the pleasure from her until it became pain, then repeat the process.
It might even be fun to deny her, to see her desperate enough to beg me to give her what she wants, what sheneeds. What I wouldn’t do to see her plead with her eyes as she paints a picture with her words of just what she craves. Would I give it to her immediately, or would I hold off? Both, I imagine.
“I want…” Sloane pants in reply. “To come for you because I’m your slut.”
My eyes never leave Genevieve’s, and the fire that blazes within her gaze is igniting me from the inside out. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my attention never shifting. “That’s right, my slutty little toy for me to do whatever I want with. Allison, could you increase the speed?”
Genevieve licks her lips briefly before capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but she doesas I ask, positioning herself between Sloane’s spread legs. Our victim quickly begins thrashing, attempting to outrun the onslaught of pleasure.
“Ah, ah, toys don’t complain. They only beg.”
She sputters a string of mediocre pleas, some that make no sense at all. Genevieve’s on her knees at the foot of the bed, her heated gaze on me as I command, “If you’re going to come this time, you need to ask.”
“Please,”she screeches, and I smirk at the Madam before counting to five in my mind.
Only then do I state, “You may come now.”
The vibrator stays in place through her climax. When I’m sure she’s coming down and the sensitivity is going to pose an issue, I declare, “Turn it off.”
Genevieve immediately removes the wand, not wasting a second. I climb to my feet, stalking over to the bed and silently begin untying Sloane’s wrists. Her eyes brim with tears as she sobs softly, her sniffles filling the air as her feet are freed.
Since she’smy sub—according to these two women—and Genevieve is surveying me with an expectant look, I settle onto the mattress. Hauling Sloane into my arms, I tuck her into my chest, her mascara staining my white shirt.
“You did so well,” I praise, pretending that the woman in my arms is actually the woman bustling around the room. “You were perfect.”
After several minutes, Genevieve passes me a bottle of water, our fingertips brushing as I take it from her. “Multiple orgasms can be dehydrating.”
I unscrew the cap before passing it to the petite woman curled against me.
“Before we meet next week, I’d like you to do some additional research on bondage, direct pressure points, and blood flow,” Genevieve instructs me, her tone firm.
Fuck me to Hell. How am I going to get any work done thinking about restraining Genevieve in a myriad of compromising positions?
I nod, but when she doesn’t look away, our gazes tethered, I gift her with the same compliment I gave Sloane, but this time, I truly mean it. “You did well, too. You were the perfect proxy, doing everything exactly as I would’ve.”
Her jaw tightens as she fights the shiver that still manages to rocket through her, jostling her shoulders slightly. Is she picturing my hands on her body? I am.
“I’m glad I could please you,Clark.”
It takes everything in me not to groan and abandon Sloane to drag her into my arms. This entire op is making me feel like I’ve got one of Genevieve’s cages of torment locked around my cock all the time. Only problem is, I’m not sure who has the key.
Genevieve
Low, warm light emanates from the lamp beside my couch and the opulent chandelier above me, casting the room in a seductive glow. Snuggled in my coziest silk pajamas, I settle beneath the blanket, resting against the host of decorative pillows.
Taking a bite of carrot cake, I moan as the cream cheese frosting melts on my tongue. Spring’s baked goods arealmostas delicious as autumn’s, but it’s hard to beat the pumpkin, apple, and cinnamon flavors that accompany that time of year. The contest is close, though.
Once I finish my treat, I set the plate on the side table and tuck my legs beneath me as I reach for my notebook. After the dinner at the White House, I’ve been itching to flip through my most prized possession. Unease has tugged at the tiny hairs on the back of my neck for the last several nights this week.
There was something about Ford’s behavior during our lesson yesterday that only set me further on edge, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it was the way he was obviously…elsewhere when he arrived, or perhaps it was the way he commanded the room, and consequently, me. It’s a relief that I’ve only agreed to give one more lesson. I’m not sure I could handle much more than that without throwing Sloane away and dropping to my own knees.
Ford is a perilous risk that I cannot take. The best thing I can do for myself is to wash my hands of that man.
Attempting to soothe my nerves and remind myself of who the fuck I am, I crack the worn spine of the bound, blood-red journal in my hand and open it to the first page.
