8. Session Two | Instruction #3
I found the spot behind his balls. That smooth stretch of skin between sack and ass. Pressed two fingers there while I sucked him. Rubbed in small circles with firm pressure and his entire body bowed off the chair.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Following my rules. Wanting to speak but not allowed. The effort of staying silent while I massaged that spot and swallowed him deep was making his entire body shake. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
I pulled off. Jerked him fast with both hands, slick and twisting.
"You wanna come?"
He nodded. Frantic. His jaw clenched against the words he wasn't allowed to say.
"You can speak."
"Please." It exploded out of him. "Please, Nailah, please, I need to come, I can't take any more, you're killing me, please let me, please, I'll do anything, just please don't stop, please let me come in your mouth, please..."
"Since you asked so nicely."
I took him deep. All the way. My nose against his pelvis. My throat working around him. Repeatedly, I bobbed my head, tongue applying pressure, cheeks suctioning, my hand massaging his now tight balls. My eyes looking up, locked on his, watching him watch me swallow him whole.
He came.
Hard. Violent. His hips drove up off the chair and I stayed with him, took every pulse, felt him flood my mouth in hot surges that I swallowed without pulling back.
His body convulsed. His wrists strained against the silk hard enough to leave marks.
A sound left him that was barely human: broken, guttural, relief and agony tangled into one.
I kept him in my mouth through every wave.
Sucking gentle now, easing him through the aftershocks while his body spasmed and his breathing came in sounds that were almost cries.
Only when the tremors stopped, only when he went boneless and heavy in the chair, did I pull off.
Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Looked up at him.
His face was devastated.
"Good boy," I said.
Full-body shudder. A broken sound from somewhere deep in his chest. Those two words landing like a brand on his skin.
I stood. Untied his wrists. Left first. Then right. His arms fell heavy. I pulled the silk free. Set it on the rack, then returned to him.
Standing between his legs, I let him press his face into my stomach and hold me with whatever strength he had left. His arms around my waist. His breath hot through my skin. His forehead against my navel.
I held the back of his neck. Stroked the short hair there. Let him come back to himself in his own time.
"Nailah."
"Yeah."
His arms tightened.
"You terrify me."
I smiled against the top of his head.
"Good."
JARVIS
My turn.
The thought formed before the last tremor left my body. Before my wrists stopped aching. Before my vision cleared.
She was standing between my legs. Naked. Her skin catching the overhead spots. Her mouth wet. My cum still on her bottom lip where she'd missed a drop. Looking down at me with an expression that said I own you and meaning every syllable.
And she did. In this room, with this silk on my wrists, she owned every breath in my body. I'd just come harder than I've ever come in my life from her mouth alone and I was grateful for it. Ready to kneel. Ready to stay here all night in whatever position she put me in.
But.
The dynamic had shifted since her apartment.
She was both. I knew that now. She wanted to command and she wanted to receive.
She wanted to hold the rope and she wanted to feel it.
And the man who could be both for her, the man who could kneel at her feet one hour and pin her to the wall the next, was me.
She untied my wrists. Left first. Then right. My arms fell heavy. I pulled the silk free. Set it on the rack.
Then I stood.
She looked up at me. Surprised by the shift in my posture. By the way I was looking at her.
"What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice still carrying authority. Still the woman in charge.
"Evening the score." I walked toward her. She didn't step back. Her chin lifted. Meeting me. "You just took my mouth. My voice. My dignity." I stopped in front of her. Close. Looking down at her the way she'd been looking down at me. "Now I want yours."
Something flickered in her eyes. Intrigue. The woman who'd just dominated me considering whether she wanted to be dominated back.
"You think you can take something from me that I don't give?" she said. Low. A challenge.
"I think you've been giving me shit all night." I reached forward. My hand found her throat. "And I think you want to know what happens when you stop."
Her breath caught. Her pupils dilated. Her nipples, already hard, tightened further.
"What's your color?" I asked.
She held my gaze for three seconds. Then: "Green."
I kissed first. Hard. My hand on her throat, my tongue in her mouth, tasting myself on her lips.
She moaned into it. Her body pressing forward into mine.
Her hands finding my chest, nails digging.
She was still buzzing from the power she'd held all night.
Still electric with it. And kissing her right now was holding a live wire: dangerous, crackling, magnetic.
I walked her backward. One step. Two. Until her back hit the rack. The metal hooks and leather and rope pressing into her spine. I reached above her. Grabbed the cobalt silk from its hook. The longer piece. The one for complex work.
"Hands behind your back."
She looked at me. Her jaw set.
“I said hands behind your back, Nailah."
Her eyes narrowed. But her hands moved. Slowly. Behind her. Wrists crossing at the small of her back. Offering. The way I'd offered her earlier. The same posture. The same trust.
I tied her. Quick. Confident. This was my rope. My room. My domain. The knot was different from hers: a double column with a cinch, tighter, less give. Not punishing. Present. The kind of bind that said you're staying exactly where I put you.
She pulled. Tested. Held.
"On your knees."
Something crossed her face. A flicker of resistance. The dominant in her pushing back against the command. But her body was already responding: her nipples harder, her breathing faster, her thighs pressing together from the arousal of being told what to do by someone she'd just made beg.
She lowered herself. Graceful. Both knees on the mat. Her hands bound behind her. Looking up at me from below.
The image.
Nailah Cross on her knees for me.
My dick, which had been soft for less than five minutes, started to harden again.
I stood over her. Gripped her jaw. Tilted her face up. My thumb pressing into her bottom lip, pulling it down, watching her mouth open.
"You taught me how to eat your pussy tonight," I said.
"Made me earn every taste. Corrected me.
Guided me. Pulled my fucking hair until I got it right.
" My thumb slid into her mouth. She sucked it.
Automatic. Her tongue wrapping around it, her cheeks hollowing.
My dick now fully hard, rising in front of her face. "Now I'm going to teach you something."
I pulled my thumb free. Wet. Gripped the base of my dick. Held it in front of her mouth.
"Open."
She opened. Her eyes on mine. Not submissive. Daring. The woman on her knees was still the woman in charge. Just choosing to let me believe otherwise.
I pressed the head of my dick against her lower lip. Rested it there. Let her feel the weight of it. The heat. The pre-cum already beading at the tip.
"You're going to take me the way I just took you," I said. "At my pace. My depth. My rhythm. And you're going to look at me the entire time."
Her tongue slid out. Licked the pre-cum from the tip. Her eyes never leaving mine. Defiant and hungry at once.
I pushed forward. Slow. Watching my dick disappear between her full lips. The stretch of her mouth around my girth. The warmth. The wet. She took me in, inch by inch, her jaw opening wider, her throat working. Halfway. Then deeper. I hit the back of her throat and held.
Her eyes watered. But she didn't gag. Didn't flinch. Held me there with her eyes locked on mine and her bound hands flexing behind her back and her throat squeezing around the head of my dick in a way that made my vision blur.
I pulled back. Let her breathe. Then pushed in again.
Setting the pace. Slow. Deliberate. Using her mouth the way she'd used mine: with ownership.
With appreciation. Watching her face while I fucked her throat and feeling something in my chest crack open at the sight of her: this powerful, commanding woman on her knees with my dick in her mouth choosing to be here.
Not broken. Not diminished. Elevated by the choice.
I sped up. My hand finding the back of her head. Not pushing. Guiding. Feeling the short hair at her nape beneath my palm. She matched my rhythm. Took me deeper. Her tongue working the underside. Spit dripping from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin, dripping onto her breasts.
"Fuck, Nailah. Your mouth..." I couldn't finish the sentence. The sight of her was destroying me. Her bound hands. Her wet chin. Her eyes still locked on mine with an expression that said I'm letting you have this. Remember that.
I pulled out. Stepped back. My dick slick and hard and throbbing.
"Stand up."
She rose. Fluid. Even with her hands bound, even from her knees, she stood with the grace of someone who belonged in every position.
I grabbed her. Spun her. Bent her over the padded bench. Her face pressed into the leather. Her ass in the air. Her bound hands at the small of her back. Exposed from behind: her pussy swollen, glistening, dripping down her thighs.
I spread her with both hands. Looked at what was mine. She was soaked. Her clit hard and pulsing. Her entrance clenching around nothing, begging to be filled.