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Daria noticed a tattoo of an eagle on his left shoulder. She came to him and traced it with a delicate finger, smiling to herself as his flesh jumped under her touch.
"Does that symbolize something?" she said. "You may speak."
"My grandmother was Native American." His voice was hoarse. "The eagle was her guardian. I wanted a tribute to her."
In all the years she'd known him, she hadn't know about that bit of his heritage. Well, that explained his almost bronzed skin and high cheekbones. Not to mention his nut-brown hair. Still, the eagle intrigued her. She'd seen him without his shirt before, at the pool. But this was the first time she'd noticed it.
"It looks sexy on you," she said. "It must be new."
She looked at him and he stared back, challengingly. Hmm. Something in her kicked over at that look. A primal urge rose inside her to control. To tame. It was that urge, more than the idea of sex with him that kicked her arousal up another notch.
Daria smiled. "This is the last time you speak to me without permission, unless it's to say the safe words." When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up the small whip, and moved the soft tassels across his chest. Up and down, up and down, caressingly, but in a way that would tell him she knew how to use it. "Next time you open your mouth without permission, you'll feel this."
Adrian looked at her, swallowed, then nodded. He lay still as she ran the whip's tassels around his genitals, which were starting to come to life.
"Think of this as a penalty for some infraction," she continued softly. "Roughing. High-sticking. Unsportsmanlike conduct. But unlike hockey, Black Irish, this penaltywill last a hell of a lot longer. And will hopefully bring you a lot more pleasure."
She fancied she could hear him gulp. Deliberately turning her back on him, Daria went into his closet and picked out two ties she'd frequently seen him wear. Just the ticket. She returned to Adrian. His gray eyes sparked questions at her, but he remained silent. Placing the ties on the bed, Daria untied her robe and dropped it, barely restraining a laugh at his sudden intake of breath.
Daria picked up his left wrist and wrapped the red tie around it, before tying it to the bedpost.
"The next time you wear these ties," she said as she repeated her actions with the right wrist and gold tie, "after a hockey game, or during a press conference, I want you to remember this moment. I want to remember how hot you were for me. For it. How much you liked being tied up and submitting. I want you to remember me dressed like this. And I want you getting hard at the memory. I don't care when it happens or were. I want you aroused when you think about this."
Adrian closed his eyes, and Daria saw his cock continue to swell. As she finished tying him, a rush of power jolted through her body. With an effort, Daria fought to slow her breathing and still the trembling of her hands.
Control, Daria. Don't lose control. Not yet.
Taking, slow, even breaths, Daria calmed herself. "Open your eyes," she said softly. He did so, and the ragged desire in them made her weak in the knees. Deftly, she slipped the cock ring around his growing erection and he jumped a little. "Tell me if that starts to hurt. Are you okay now? Speak."
"Oh, God. Yes."
Daria took the whip and slapped him lightly on the stomach. Though he jumped, Daria saw the reaction she needed. His cock twitched in its leather restraint.
"You're to address me as 'ma'am.' Do so."
"Yes, ma'am." His voice was husky.
"Good." She took the green necktie and caressed his erection and thatch of dark hair between his legs. Gripping the tie by both ends, she moved it across his swollen penis. When Adrian jerked and moaned, she picked up the whip and slapped his stomach.
She could see his throat working as he fought against groaning. Lust glazed his eyes and his breathing become faster.
"Good job," she said. "Now. I'm going to play with myself with this tie. You'll watch."
She could see his jaw clench and he closed his eyes briefly, but then opened them again and focused on her. Daria smiled at him, knowing she could drive him crazy by pleasuring herself and he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. He wouldn't be able to touch her--or himself. He'd have to watch in exquisite, erotic torture while she played. Silent torture, knowing the whip was nearby if he so much as groaned.
Posted January 26, 2010
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Posted January 18, 2010
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