Playing the Game (25 page)

“Yes, you want this badly, don’t you, Alice?” He pulled his hips back.

Her walls contracted, feeling the emptiness, squeezing hard around the tip of his cock. He thrust as if he’d been waiting for it, a fast, unrestrained motion that filled her and dropped sudden weight on her clit. She couldn’t control the instinctive thrust in return or the quiver in her thighs as tension raced through them.

He pulled back, always slow as he left her, dragging out the sensation. Shaking, she waited for the faster thrust, the one he was sure to deliver next. He held much of his weight on his elbows, and his gaze had not wavered from her face.

“So do I,” he growled. “I want to see your face when you come for me, Alice.”

His hips snapped forward, a fierce drive, her whole body attuned to that single movement and desperate to fulfill his desire, to obey his need for her. Orgasm arrived with unexpected suddenness. Left her giddy and boneless and uncaring about anything beyond the press of his body above hers.

A sliver of fear crept into her heart. No toys, no tricks, no third partner, no fingers rubbing furiously over her clit, no imagined scenarios. Nothing. He hadn’t used anything but his hard cock and his careful attention to her needs, and he’d made her come from intercourse alone. In the missionary position. A first.

And he was going to do it again, she thought, as he worshipped her face with short kisses and murmured words of comfort and appreciation. Because he was still hard, still thrusting in a more relaxed rhythm now, slow and gentle and not as deep. Maybe waiting for her to come back down to Earth. Something that wasn’t going to happen if he kept moving. Tension coiled low in her belly, inside somehow, and his cock didn’t thrust so much as rub.

She moaned, her own voice unfamiliar to her ears, a wavering vibrato.

His head dipped to her chest. Closing his mouth over her right breast, he sucked and tugged with the same slow speed his hips had adopted. Her climax grew into a rolling wave that never broke but ebbed and flowed with his motion, as though he commanded her body to provide a continuous fountain of pleasure until he found his own release.

He hadn’t been urgent about it by the end. His rhythm hadn’t faltered, and he hadn’t given a shout. Her body hadn’t been merely a means to an end for him. He’d been tender. And silent but for hushed words she couldn’t hear as he whispered them to her breasts.

When he lifted his head, she watched him through half-closed eyes. His smile proved impossible to read. He kissed her forehead and her nose and her lips as if she were not a part-time playmate but a beloved partner. He must’ve known she needed that today, too. The gestures of a lover even if pretend.

“Rest, Alice. I’ll be back in a moment, and then we’ll begin again.”

Chapter 9

“We’ll be adding a new dimension to our games this evening, Alice.” Henry led her across his bedroom to the second dresser, the one he didn’t keep for clothes.

Jay lagged behind, seating himself on the padded bench in the corner. They were all of them still dressed, though Henry had already gone through the ritual questions.

Six toys lay in a neat line across the top of the dresser. Nothing she’d seen before. She sucked in a breath, the sound loud in the silence.

“I am not a sexual sadist, Alice. There is no compulsive gratification in this for me.”

Henry stood beside her, but he didn’t touch her. The last time she’d been in this room, two weeks ago, he’d fucked her until sunup. Tonight it seemed he had something else in mind.

“Nor am I intending to work out some psychological or emotional trauma on your flesh. This is about testing your limits, allowing you to discover whether the proper application of pain can be a pleasurable experience for you. Do you understand the difference?”

“I think so.” Her hands twitched at her sides. She wanted to touch the implements he’d chosen for her before he applied them with force. “You aren’t angry, not with me or anyone else. And if I don’t like it, you won’t keep going just to satisfy yourself. It’s for me. To learn what I want.”

“Very good.” He stepped behind her and lifted her hands in his. “You may touch the toys, my dear. Familiarize yourself with their feel before we begin.”

She breathed out, a relieved, near-silent sigh, and picked up the feathers at the far left. They hung at the end of a short whip, soft and silky against her fingers.

Henry stepped away. Vaguely aware of him joining Jay on the bench, she let the toys claim her attention. Down went the feathers. She picked up the next item, a wood-handled hairbrush with a broad head. Stiff bristles. A smooth back, sealed with a finish of some sort. Waxed, from the slight shine.

Third came a paddle with a leather covering on one side and plain wood on the other. She splayed her fingers across the leather. The edges narrowly exceeded her grasp.

Three left. Whips of some sort, all of them. She laid a hand on the first.

Soft. Softer than she’d expected. She rolled an end between two fingers. Suede. It wouldn’t be so soft hitting her, not with the added momentum and the force of Henry’s swing. But standing here, rubbing her fingers against the material, she shifted her legs and shivered as the seam of her jeans slid over her mons.

Henry’s soft rumble formed her name. She half-turned, but his focus stayed with Jay. A chastisement for getting ahead of herself didn’t seem to be in the offing.

“…Alice but also for you, my boy.”

She turned back to the dresser. Jay’s transition into a scene usually happened before her arrival. She rarely heard Henry give him extensive instructions. Now that she’d heard her name, tuning out their quiet voices was difficult, even if she couldn’t catch every word.

“…need to do…”

“…prove something to is yourself, Jay. But if…”

She moved her hand to the second whip. Like the first, it had more than a dozen strips of material extending from a single knot. Unlike the first, the material was hard leather, thick and heavy, with an odd pattern like a bed of tiny pebbles. Her heart beat faster as she stared at the handle, imagining Henry’s hand clenched around the leather, picturing the fall.

“…can’t help thinking about…”

“…allow that experience to dominate your…”

The final whip on the dresser was different. Familiar, in that it was the sort she’d have pictured before playing with Henry and Jay. A woman in leather and thigh-high boots slapping a riding crop across her palm, telling some man he’d been a naughty boy. This whip was long and thin, a bit flexible, with a leather loop at the end. Despite the crop’s classic image, its mental association with sex, the thought of Henry wielding it didn’t excite her.

She returned to the two multitipped whips, laying a hand on each, stroking. Fantasizing.

“…help Alice out of her clothes, Jay.”

She twisted and met two intent stares. The men stood.

Henry smiled. “I do believe she’s ready to play this game now.”

She put her back to the dresser as they came to her.

Taking her hands, Jay pulled her forward and stepped close to unbutton her shirt. His palms caressed the slope of her breasts and slipped around her waist as he pushed her shirt open.

Henry’s voice came from over her shoulder. “You lingered on the floggers, Alice. Why them?”

She should’ve known he’d pay attention to her reactions, even while sitting with Jay. Her shirt dropped to the floor. She relished the teasing dance of Jay’s fingers up her back to the clasp of her bra.

“I don’t know.”

“But you felt something. Imagined something?”

She wouldn’t mistake his low, easy tone for anything other than the demand it was.

Jay tugged her bra down her arms, and it joined her shirt on the floor. He laid his hands at her waist, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her jeans.

“The suede. It was soft. I wanted to feel it…between my legs.” Confusion, not embarrassment, made her hesitate. She didn’t know why she wanted these things, but that didn’t make them wrong. “And the other, the leather?”

“Buffalo hide, my dear. A heavy leather.”

“The buffalo. It…it looked right in your hand.”

Jay thumbed open the snap on her jeans. The metal zipper ticked as he dragged it down.

“You pictured me using it on you?”

“Yes.”

“An arousing image?”

Jay knelt, sliding her jeans down her legs.

She sucked in her lips to wet them. “Very.”

Jay lifted her feet clear of her jeans. She stood in nothing but her underwear, a navy-blue pair Henry had given her weeks ago. They matched the bra lying on the floor.

“Good girl. Thank you, Alice.”

She trembled, a mix of pleasure at his praise and anticipation as Jay lowered her underwear, his breath puffing against her thighs.

“Thank you, Jay. You’ve unwrapped a lovely present for us. Waiting pose, please.” At Henry’s command, Jay sat back on his heels in front of her. “Alice, to the bed, please.”

She moved and waited for further instructions, but Henry laid his hands on her instead. She kept her muscles pliant and flowing, allowing him to position her at the foot of the bed as he wished. Her feet spread. Her upper body lying against the comforter. Her arms stretched over her head. He slid a pillow into the gap between the mattress and her hips.

“Are you comfortable, Alice?”

“Yes, Henry.”

“I won’t bind you this time, but you are not to squirm away from the sensation. Your hands are to remain above your head. Do not attempt to shield yourself from me. You may cause yourself harm that way. I will judge when you have had enough. If you disagree, what are you to do?”

“Say my word.”

“And what is your word?”

“Pistachio.”

“Good girl.” He stroked her back, and she struggled not to press herself into his touch as his palm slid down until it cupped her right buttock. He squeezed. “Your skin is pale cream, Alice. I expect it reddens easily. So many lovely shades.”

His hand dropped away. She stood, waiting, her legs parted, her pubic bone grazing the thick pillow beneath her hips as she bent over.

The bed dipped to her right. Jay, naked now too, matched her positioning. Henry’s hand lay on his shoulder.

“What are your rules for the evening, Jay?”

“If I want your attention, I have to ask for it.”

“Correct. And?”

“If it’s too much…if I can’t…I can leave. I don’t need permission.”

“Correct. And if that happens?”

“I should go to the kitchen, drink a glass of orange juice, sit down and wait for you.”

“Good boy.”

Henry left them lying alone, side by side. Their eyes met. Jay’s showed something like fear. Though she wanted to ask, despite it not being her business, she held her tongue. If Henry wanted her to speak, he would tell her so.

But she shifted her hand, as if she were stretching, letting her arm drift right until her fingers brushed Jay’s arm. His eyes softened. His lips twitched in a small smile that quickly disappeared. It was odd to think herself the more confident one, the more trusting one. Excited, anticipatory, she waited for Henry’s actions, knowing he wouldn’t hurt her beyond what she enjoyed. But Jay trembled as though he might bolt.

She smiled, intending to reassure him, but her smile morphed into a soft sigh, an easy exhalation, as feather tips dragged across the top of her ass from left to right. The light touch, too light, wasn’t quite ticklish but something else. Something that focused her attention.

It came again, faster, a wisp, a glide. She shivered, imagining a heavier stroke. Imagining the suede, the buffalo. The feathers danced in a pattern, left and right, high and low, and she arched her back and lifted her heels to press closer.

The feathers stopped.

“How do you feel, Alice? Right now, without thinking about it.”

“Focused. Needy.”

“In pain?”

“No.” Why would she be in pain?

“Highly sensitized?” Something round and cool pressed against her left buttock, and she jumped.