Tara’s whimpers work their magic and I find myself hard. Her voice struggling to not scream out while her hips grind into the padded leather. The soft buzzing of the latex cock, vibrating it’s way through her.
Taking Sara by the hand, I walk her, hand upraised to the creamy leather couch. Settling down into the soft cold.
Sara looks me in the eyes and wordlessly mouths, “Good job.” I smile, pleased. I’m not much for the impromptu. I prefer planning and the coming together of elements to form a greater hold.
As a reward, I remove a bell from Sara’s left breast. Careful to unclamp it to prevent potential tearing. Not for Sara’s sake. She pouts a bit. Generally, I pull clamps off and that extra jolt of pain thrills her. But this time, I have future plans. And blood would make those plans problematic.
The long slow swirl of Sara’s tongue pulls a soft moan from my throat. Not quite making it to the warming air, the heat of the day pouring through the softly curtained terrace doors.
Birdsong fills the house, over the slight buzz, the pleased moans, the soft drip of wet gathering in a puddle from rivelets flowing down the bench. The soft tinkling of bells in A minor. This perfect moment where all that I want and all who I love are happy.
Right on the edge, Sara pulls her mouth over the head of my softly swollen cock, the wet pop. Looking into my eyes, she moves up my torso dragging her blonde hair over me. Holding my gaze as my erection fades.
I reach out, caressing her muscular side, hand brushing against bells. With one swift jerk, I pull one free eliciting a sharp yip of surprise and a kiss hard against my lips, chewing my lips and tongue.
She pulls back triumphant in the pain of returning circulation and the harsh snap of removal. Her fierce predator smile steals over her. Eyes holding mine as she works her way back down.
I work my hand into her hair, fingers skimming scalp. Tangling, I pull her head back.
“Drape yourself over the table,” voice scoured of inflection.
She looks at me, head pulled to the side at a acute angle. As the light comes on. She kissed me. Kissed me without permission. While having been ordered to other action.
She hooks her leg around mine, not wanting to further disobey. Twisting around, body contorting to keep in contact with mine, she places her body against the St. Andrews Cross we use for a coffee table.
She waits while I decide what punishment, if any, I decide to meet out for disobedience.
In truth, her savage kiss pleased me. It was authentic, enthusiastic and of the moment. Choosing to punish will enforce the rules but will rein in her spontaneity.
This is the fine line. Between desire and rules. In a way, I feel obligated to the Scene. But in another, I love her. And want her enthusiasm. So my decision is made for me.
“Get up, my dear girl. Clean Tara up and go to the bed. I think now is a good time for a midmorning nap.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sara replies, relief in her tone, and regret.