Chapter 26
Ethan
She’s breaking my brain.
Having turned up at Alchemy in the certain knowledge that she wouldn’t be happy to see me, I now somehow have my beautiful assistant shackled to a huge wooden cross for me to do with as I like.
The lushness of her naked body, spread-eagled like this, is quite extraordinary.
Her olive skin and perfect tits and generously curved hips, and that red mouth, parted in aroused anticipation: every part of her screams ripeness and fertility and all those other things we’re hardwired to desire.
Her black hair falls loosely around her shoulders, cascading down her arms, tendrils teasing her nipples.
Her eyes are dark and sparkling with need as she waits for me to make my move.
It’s no surprise to anyone that we’re drawing a crowd.
She’s drawing a crowd.
She’s magnificent.
It can’t be every night that these horny fuckers get to ogle a woman this spectacular, laid out for them in all her natural glory.
I twist the large white feather our host has given me between my fingers.
It must be a foot long, its ends softly curling.
It will do perfectly. Last time I was here, a month or so ago, I saw a guy using a feather like this to tease the woman he had mounted on one of the crosses for his pleasure, and it seems my diabolical brain filed that tip away for future visits.
I am indescribably happy to be able to put his technique to good use tonight, and on Sophia, of all people.
Without taking my eyes off her, I close the gap between us and press my body flush against hers.
I can’t not. Every part of me is positively screaming to cover her.
To know her like this. To enjoy her, just for a second, in a purely selfish way, before I give her all the things I know she wants tonight.
My lips find hers, and she opens for me immediately.
Such a greedy, wanton little thing. She’s in the zone already.
She’ll take whatever I give her. Our tongues dance desperately as I press my erection against her pelvic bone and my chest against hers.
Where I’m hard and hungry and unyielding, she’s soft and pliant, her tits smushed against me like the perfect cushion.
I knew as soon as I saw her that a man could get lost in this body, could perish in this body, and I was right.
With my free hand, I stroke along the side of her body, brushing over the velvet skin of her arm and the smooth niche of her armpit before caressing her waist. Her hip. I’m rutting into her, I realise. My dick has a mind of its own tonight. In return, she’s kissing me back like a woman possessed.
‘Do you like it like this?’ I murmur against her plush mouth. ‘Being tied up for me? Knowing you’re at my mercy? That all your pleasure depends on me?’
‘I love it,’ she whispers with a broken moan. ‘I’m so turned on I think I might die.’
‘Don’t die. That’s an order. Just take it. Take it all. That’s another order. Are your hands okay?’
I unglue myself from her enough to observe her wiggle her fingers.
‘Yeah. All good.’
‘Excellent. In that case…’ I slide one hand into my pocket and use the feather to trace a line down the side of her body I haven’t just caressed.
This time, it’s the soft, curling feathers that stroke downwards from the cuff shackling her wrist, down the skin of her forearm, the dimple of her elbow, down, down, skimming over her armpit until I reach her breast. Slowly, deliberately, I circle it, tracing its underside with the feather.
She lets out a little whimper, and I smile to myself in delight at how responsive she is.
That said, she’d better pace herself. I haven’t used the feather anywhere interesting yet.
Ignoring her lovely, pinched nipple, I trace a line further down her body, brushing over the soft curve of her stomach, circling her navel. She watches me, rapt.
‘You are extraordinarily beautiful,’ I tell her in a voice that’s a little too husky for my liking. I blame the sheer volume of blood that’s vacated my head for my dick. Her face lights up at my words.
That fucking smile of hers will be the death of me.
There may be two of us dead by the end of this evening.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ Her eyes rake over me hungrily. ‘It’s like Hades killed a swan just so he could come up to earth and use the feathers to torture the maidens.’
‘You’re really calling yourself a maiden?’ I swipe the very end of the feather downwards over the raven strip of hair, withdrawing it before it can get anywhere near her clit, and she shudders.
‘Fuck. And rude.’
A guy has shuffled up next to me. ‘Need any help? She could really have some fun if a few more of us grabbed feathers.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I growl at him.
Not only do I have no intention of letting anyone else touch her, but I intend to remain in full control of how slowly and tortuously I edge Sophia.
Obviously I don’t have unlimited time—I have to keep an eye on the circulation in her arms, after all—but I have no plan to rush this any more than I have to.
Because, until this dickhead piped up, my mind has been blissfully clear.
All there is is the stunning woman in front of me, and this feather, and the privilege of playing her body and watching it respond.
It’s such a beautiful, clean situation.
Me.
Her.
Cross.
Feather.
And I’m conducting this symphony. I’m in full control. The feather is my baton, Sophia’s body my orchestra.
‘I wonder how wet you are. I bet if I dragged this thing between your legs, it would come out soaking.’
‘Why don’t you try and see?’ she asks, and I grin evilly.
‘I’m not stupid. And I don’t want you to soak it yet. I want it nice and fluffy so I can do this.’
I raise my hand and begin to stroke one nipple with the lightest touches before brushing the feather across the valley of her breasts to stroke the other.
The sensation must be such a tiny proportion of what she actually yearns to feel, but the effect is immediate. Her entire body jolts, and she moans.
‘Oh my god, that’s so good, oh my god.’
‘Poor girl, so starving that she’s grateful for the smallest scraps,’ I croon. But such a lovely response merits a reward, so I ramp up the flicks, the brushstrokes, over one nipple and then the other as Sophia thrashes around as best she can.
‘Now let’s see how soaked you are,’ I tell her, letting the tip of the feather graze her in a downward trail until it finds that landing strip again.
This time, I follow the trail, coaxing the feather between her legs.
They’re open, of course, on this X-like structure, but they’re not spread to the extent they would be if I had her laid out on a bed for me.
All the better to torment her.
The feather bends as it drags through her flesh. I long to bury my fingers in there, my face, but I long to edge Sophia even more. Just for a few more moments.
She begins the staccato gibbering that I know means she’s seriously turned on. ‘Oh—oh—oh—oh. God.’
‘Tell me how it feels,’ I command. My dick may be close to ripping the fly of my trousers open, but I’m holding onto my control with every ounce of strength I have.
She dips her head to look down at where the tip of the feather has disappeared between her legs.
‘It’s so… teasing. It’s so not nearly enough. Ugh, it’s fucking torture.’
‘Really.’ I step closer and burrow between her legs to the soaked flesh I knew I’d find. Holding her open with my free hand, I use the feather to tickle those deeper, hidden parts, brushing it back and forth over her clit.
‘Shit.’ She bucks against me, into my touch, as best she can, which is to say not very well, given how flush her body lies against the wooden cross. ‘Ethan, please. Seriously.’
I’ve done far more hardcore things than this in my past, used more aggressive toys. I’m employing a fucking feather, after all.
But never has it felt this heady to edge a woman.
Never have power and delight and gratification coursed so warmly through my veins.
Because this is Sophia, the ultimate free spirit, the woman I can only have a small part of on her terms, and here she is, tied to a cross at my behest on a Saturday night, moaning and writhing for everyone to witness in all her naked, shameless, splendid glory.
She’s made herself vulnerable to me because she knows I get off on it, and she knows I’ll deliver for her, and that trust she’s given me burns me up.
SOPHIA
Every inch of me is aflame as this netherworldly king continues to edge me with the most innocuous of props.
Heat licks over my sensitive skin, mapping me.
I’m sweating like the last cucumber in a women’s prison, to be honest. And, as unbearable as the ache, the desperation is, I’m in love with this feeling. I’m consumed by this anticipation.
Never has sex felt quite so sacrificial. He could throw a lit match at my feet and finish the job, and I’d happily go up in flames for him. He’s barely touching me, yet the stakes feel sky-high. After all, he has me stripped and lashed to a cross in a sex club.
And it seems we’re attracting quite the audience.
Of the two of us, I have the outward-facing view, and watching the members drift towards us has my arousal ratcheting up tenfold.
They’re mainly guys, staring at my body with thinly disguised hunger.
One guy has his dick out and is stroking himself firmly as he watches me react to my gorgeous boss’ teasing.
A man and woman stand together behind Ethan.
He has his hand down the front of her leather skirt, and the way she’s squirming against him tells me she’s feeling it.
I’m not surprised.
She’s getting a pretty fucking good show. A voluptuous woman splayed out naked on a cross and a hot-as-fuck guy commanding her body, reducing her to a puddle on the fucking floor with nothing more than a simple feather?
I’d pay good money to watch this.