He silently took the plate from me. His eyes watched mine as he slid a cucumber from a skewer and pressed it to my lips. I parted my mouth, accepting his offering.
When I’d chewed and swallowed, he brought his bare fingers to my mouth.
“I have marinade on my fingers,” he said. “You need to clean it off.”
I took his fingers, one at a time, into my mouth and gently licked off the marinade. When I finished, he took an olive and fed me. Again, he lifted his fingers and again, I cleaned them of every trace of marinade.
Once he bumped a nipple as he dropped his hand to the platter, and I stifled a whimper. Nathaniel feeding me, combined with the ache of my nipples, left me feeling wanton and primal, because it wasn’t his finger I wanted in my mouth.
“Patience,” he ordered as I shifted in my seat. “I’m going to extract every ounce of pleasure I possibly can from your body, and when you don’t think you can bear any more”—he tugged the chain—“I’m going to show you what you have left.”
I shivered, believing his every word.
He smiled at my response, picked up a meatball, and finished feeding me lunch.
“You’ve had the clamps on long enough,” he said when we’d finished. “Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”
Lunch had turned me on more than I would have imagined. He’d fed me at a leisurely pace. Every so often, he’d hold the water bottle to my lips and instruct me to drink. Only when I’d had my fill of the water would he have some himself.
In between feeding me, he played with the nipple clamps. Sometimes, he would lightly bump one as if by accident, but I knew he never did anything accidental. Other times, he would brazenly tug the chain or flick the skin around a clamp. No matter what he did, though, the end effect remained the same. By the end of lunch, I was a trembling mass of need.
At his command, I waited until he stood before rising to my feet before him. I dropped my head and waited for further instruction.
After removing the clamps, he tied my upper arms behind my back with a soft rope. “Move to the table,” he said.
I spent the short walk to the table doing my best not to think ahead. Instead, I tried to focus on doing what he told me to do, not trying to anticipate or guess his next plan. It took a few minutes to work my way onto the table, what with my arms behind my back and all.
When I’d managed to get onto the table, in what had to be one of the most graceless moments of my life ever, he positioned me on my stomach so my lower body rested on a padded wedge and propped my upper body up with pillows.
I heard him walk away only to return seconds later. His hands worked their way around and fastened a blindfold around my head. I felt a fleeting moment of panic, but calmed when he stroked my hair.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.”
His voice was low but held his normal no-nonsense tone. Between that and his hands making their way down my neck, across my shoulders, and tapping lightly along my spine, I felt myself yield.
“Lovely,” he said, hands never leaving my body.
I realized after a bit that the preparations he mentioned had to do with me.
My suspicion was confirmed when he took one of my arms and tied a rope to my wrist. I shifted slightly on the table.
His hand came down across my bottom in a hard slap. “I didn’t tell you to move.”
I held perfectly still as he tied another rope to my opposite wrist. His hands moved lower and massaged my waist, his strong fingers kneading my lower back. I relaxed further.
My lower body was already exposed to him, but he took my left ankle and tied it to my left wrist; then he repeated the action with my right ankle and right wrist, exposing me even further. I felt helpless.
“Beautiful,” he said.
I didn’t feel particularly beautiful. I felt helpless and awkward.
The sound of a camera clicking behind me made me jump.
“Just because you might not believe me,” he said. I heard his footsteps as he walked around me. Again the camera clicked.
Holy fuck. He was taking pictures of me.
“Just look at this,” he said, slipping a finger into me briefly. “I think you rather like the idea of me taking pictorial proof of your beauty.”
He moved closer to my head and
Said fingers brushed my lips, so I opened my mouth and cleaned them off. He was right; the thought of him taking pictures did turn me on, especially bound the way I was.
“Look at you. All spread out, waiting for me.” His fingers skimmed my entrance. “Just think about all the things I could do to you.”
He swirled his fingers around my clit. “The things I could do here.” He thrust two fingers deep inside me, and my body shifted. I moaned as my aching nipples rubbed against the pillow in the most agonizingly delicious way.
He chuckled.
“Or here.” He moved his fingers and they teased my other entrance. I sucked in a breath.
I let out a whimper when he spread the warm lube on me.
“So needy,” he said. Some sort of plug slowly circled where he’d prepared me. “Remember?” he asked. “Paul and Christine?”
I searched my mind, trying to decide what he meant.
“How you wondered what it felt like?” He pushed, gradually inserting the plug into me.
I was stretched.
Stretched and open and exposed and waiting.
He delivered a hard smack to my backside.
“Remember now?” he asked.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Master.”
His hands were gentle again, teasing me, running along my slit. They slowly grew rougher and pinched my outer lips. Then he spanked me again. He alternated, spanking and teasing, until it became hard for me to tell what was pain and what was pleasure. Under his hands, they combined.
Something hard and leather pressed against me.
I groaned.
“Like that?” he asked.
“Yes,” I half said, half moaned.
The strap came down harder and hit right where the plug was.
“Yes, what?” he asked.
“Oh, God,” I panted. “Yes, Master.”
He struck me again. “Better.”
The leather gently tapped my growing, aching need, and his fingers once more circled my clit. I felt as if I
