Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(34)

I had felt silly buying the lacey, cream-colored push-up bra. Who would ever see it? But when Lytton lowered the straps of my mesh tank, I squirmed out of the shirt altogether, knowing my boobs had never looked bigger, fuller, fatter. I even shimmied my shoulders a little as he tossed the mesh to the ground and admired me. His hands hovered over my boobs as though afraid to touch them.

I knew he wasn’t, though. If this guy was one of those serious Dominants he wouldn’t tolerate it for long, me stiffening his cock by nibbling his earlobe. I was right. He held me away from him, his expression firm and determined now. Looking me in the eye as he lifted one boob from its underwire cup, he said, “Eminence Front.”

“What?” I whispered. That was the name of the marijuana I’d gotten for my mother. “What about it?”

“Safeword. If you ever feel I’m pushing your limits with anything I do, you can safeword.”

“Safeword.” I had the general gist what that meant. Besides, I was far too enamored with his sheer beauty. Before he got too carried away being all dommy or whatever it was they did, I seized this opportunity to yank the wifebeater over his head. I practically sat in his lap in order to feel his smooth, café au lait skin against my chest. “Lytton,” I whispered, just because I liked to hear the name, to test it in my mouth. I sashayed my boobs against him, knowing men were powerless in the face of big boobs.

I knew I loved him even back then. I was hopeless—that must be where they get “hopelessly in love” from, right? Just hopeless! All I could reasonably hope for was to keep my mouth somewhat shut, to not go spilling my girlish fangirl crush on him, to retain some of my dignity.

So what did I do? I got up and stepped out of my pants. I made a little sexy strip tease of it, but I kicked off my boots—black cowboy boots, with the presumption that I’d be riding two up on his * pad in the future—and I did a little teasing dance, sliding my pants down inch by inch.

Lytton just leaned back on his palms and enjoyed the show. His juicy, fat cock was nestled inside his 501s. With his legs crossed a nice package was created, and every time I did a rotation to face him my mouth watered for the taste of his prick. But my dance was working. He seemed absolutely riveted to my nakedness.

“You’re amazing, June. You must’ve danced like this with tribespeople out in the desert and now you’re giving me my own private show.”

One foot was out of the pants. I only had to kick them onto the plastic-covered stage now. “Yes, I did dance with tribespeople. Not with naked tits, though. Naked tits are for you only.” Standing like a genie with my arms over my head, hands forming a tent, I primly kicked the jeans. They flew farther than expected and landed on a plant, but Lytton wasn’t interested.

One hand fumbling in his back pocket, his other hand clamped around my nude waist and drew me to him. Some sort of chain jingled in his hand. Lytton flicked my erect nipple with his fingernail, each scrape sending spikes of lust directly into my clit. I was saturated with my own juices by the time Lytton took the tweezer of the nipple clamp, slid the black bead back, and positioned it on my nipple. I hissed in air and went all tense at the sudden powerful sensation. His gaze flickered over my face, but he was serious as a chemist applying the correct amount of tension.

The other nipple he diddled with the tip of his tongue before sliding the tweezer on. Every slight movement, every breath he took caused me to jump.

“You’re quite sensitive.” This seemed to be unusual.

I whimpered and rotated my hips as I clung to his shoulders. “I think so. I’ve been told so. I wouldn’t know, not having other women to compare myself to.”

“You’re so innocent and fresh, you’re giving me ideas.” Another item came from his back pocket—handcuffs with Velcro this time, so he wouldn’t have to MacGyver it. He’d cuffed me before, but with the clamps stimulating my nipples, the chain between them swaying with every tiny movement I made, now I felt more helpless, vulnerable, and frustrated than ever.

I felt beautiful and desirable. With Lytton’s admiring gaze on the chain that jiggled between my outthrust tits, then my hips flaring from my narrow waist, I could see myself through his eyes. And for once, I wasn’t disgusted. Sure, I knew I could stand to lose a few pounds. Who couldn’t? But it seemed that Lytton appreciated my curves as he eyeballed me professionally, and now he reached out to grab the chain between my boobs.

And with his other hand, he slapped them.

One by one, he struck my boobs with sharp, stinging slaps. Backhanded, openhanded, a flurry of tiny, arousing slaps fell on my tits. They jumped and jiggled attractively, and his look became more intense, more focused as he smacked me.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I had no idea if a “submissive” was supposed to, or allowed to, cry out.

In fact, Lytton frowned. “You should be gagged. You’re a newbie, and no one can hear you except me, and I like to hear your cries.”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Like Tobiah, my cries went higher in register with each smack. My tits were reddening, getting hot, sending pangs of desire straight to my clit. I kneeled with one knee on the plastic to balance myself, and Lytton took advantage of this opening.

Materializing a pair of scissors from behind a space bucket, in a flash Lytton had cut my flimsy thong panties clean off me.

And he slapped my clit.

He slapped so quickly it was like a snake striking. Then he swiped two long, brutal fingers down the length of my slit. My cries now were hollow, wracked cries for help.