Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(35)

“You bastard! Do it, why don’t you? You’re f*cking torturing me!”

Finally, a smile. A sly smile that lifted one corner of his lush mouth.

“You’re getting the picture.” Smack.

“Ow! Do it, you f*cking bastard! Do it. Just make me come, but stop torturing me! Do you know how hot and juicy and ready for you I am?”

“That’s the idea. Clit torture wouldn’t be the same without—well, a bit of torture.” He alternately smacked and petted my clit, so I was never sure from one moment to the next how to respond. He even peppered some nibbles onto my straining nipples. That was like fingernails on a chalkboard. He was firmly in control, and I wasn’t. Each rung of control and power that Lytton gained was one that I lost.

Until I remembered. I do have the power. His bulging, pulsating cock stretched the jean fabric of his crotch, that’s how hot he was for me. I remembered that the more helpless I seemed, the more power I actually had, because I was turning him on. Every time I jumped and twitched and whinnied, Lytton got hornier and hornier for me. He became helpless with lust.

So I played it up. I sighed. I leaped. I shuddered my hips against his hand when he petted my engorged clit. I gasped, I hissed like a regular teapot. I could have safeworded, especially when out of sheer meanness he tweaked a nipple like dialing a radio. But I persevered. I said his name. “Oh, Lytton.” Then, when he slapped my clitoris, “Oh!! Lytton!!”

He stroked my clit only just enough to keep me teetering on the edge of orgasm. Every swipe of his fingers sent me higher, higher. My inner * walls were shuddering so mightily that my uterus was actually following suit, clenching and unclenching in anticipation of orgasm.

Not many men had ever given me one. I was more proficient with my BOB, the old battery-operated boyfriend. I didn’t expect Lytton to accomplish it, either. Doms weren’t widely known for that sort of behavior, and the encounter we’d had by his bog garden had told me he was your typical selfish lover, interested in his own orgasm alone.

So when Lytton growled, “Oh, lady,” I expected a cock down my throat. That was fine. Lytton had the most velvety cock, the fattest and longest cock I’d ever sucked, and I could do it all day. But now he pinched both of my swollen * lips together and rubbed. The crescendo of sheer bliss that shot through me was unexpected, and I uttered my highest whine so far.

“Aaaaah! Lytton! You f*cking bastard! Zaidi, Zaidi!” More, more! “Do it! Do something!”

“Ah,” he purred, contentedly. “Watching you is my reward.”

“Do something, you mean pig! Or I’m going to use my safeword and I’ll finish myself off at home!”

That did the trick.





CHAPTER TEN




LYTTON


When the sweet little one had her clit and nipples slapped, she turned into a regular tiger.

Lytton had underestimated how deranged, sensitive, and lusty she was. When he clamped her nipples she went every shade of pink. Those do-gooding Peace Corps or African boys must not have been very creative, because he knew right away she’d never had her nipples clamped before. The little nubbins stood out, begging to be teased into oblivion, and Lytton gave her what she demanded. Rather, what he wanted. Yes.

It was he who wanted to slap those titties, to smack that cunt. But he’d underestimated how aroused he’d become at the sight. She was so curvaceous, like someone had poured her out of an hourglass, like she’d been tight-lacing a corset for years. He knew, of course, she hadn’t, and that added to his arousal. She was too innocent for corsets or nipple clamps.

Her helplessness stiffened his cock. She couldn’t have been more helplessly stimulating than if she’d been shackled to the Saint Andrew’s cross. When he swiped his fingers across her snatch and the juice flowed over his hand, Lytton’s plan changed gears rapidly. Lytton found himself taking huge pleasure in June’s sensitive reactions.

It really stroked his ego to see he had such an effect on her. Not only did she look stunningly hot kneeling there with her uplifted tits clamped and reddened, it sent him over the moon every time he slapped her * and she jumped. When she started panting rapidly, shallowly like a woman practicing for childbirth, he knew he’d tortured her to the extreme limit. Every time he plunged two fingers up her slick cunt or scissored them across her throbbing clit, she opened her mouth in a silent scream.

He had never even wanted this before, a woman’s crescendo. Why would he want that? Why would he care? He had his slaves, and he rotated them when he got tired of them, but he was bored with being called Sir, Master. For once, he wanted to just be Lytton Driving Hawk, Pretendian, the sort of guy who cared very much about a woman’s orgasms.

When he began rubbing both extended lips of her outer labia as though feeling fine silk, June went apeshit.

“Do something, you mean pig! Or I’m going to use my safeword and I’ll finish myself off at home!”

Oh God, that was it. If she safeworded it’d be all over. He’d be forced to respect her time out and suddenly Lytton really, really wanted her to come.

He wanted to watch her face. He wanted to know he was responsible for her freak-out. So he rubbed the lips together faster, bent low, and dove on in nose first.

He wasn’t terribly experienced in eating women’s pussies. The subject just never came up when one was an experienced Dom. At first he tentatively tickled the little bud that peeked from between the lips. Rubbing the lips together, too, seemed to drive her insane. Soon he graduated to bolder strokes with the flat of his tongue. He worked her up the wall a little at a time, and her whines got higher and higher, like an approaching police siren.