Caressa's Knees (19 page)

A
little
?
She was insulted by that, but the fact was, he outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. She closed her eyes behind the blindfold, trying to calm down. He ran fingertips down her side and drew down her panties. He spread her legs wide, a position he seemed to enjoy putting her in. He prevented her from closing them with a leg splayed across her left thigh. “I know you can’t see me, but I want you to trust me, Caressa. We’re going to play a little game called ‘I trust Kyle’. Okay? You can answer
Yes, Sir
.”

Caressa turned her head, although she couldn’t see him. She jerked as his lips brushed softly against hers.
“Yes, Sir.”

He kissed her again,
then
moved away. She wanted to reach out for him, but one of his hands steadied her arms before they could even move. She heard a whisper of movement and then felt fingers parting her and hot
breath
against her pussy lips. She shuddered as he deftly licked her clit.

“Oh God.”
She tried to clench her legs shut but he held her open, teasing her pussy lips with ardent skill. Behind her closed eyes she envisioned his mouth, his sensual lips, and ached to kiss them, even as she prayed he wouldn’t stop. Each warm, slick stroke of his tongue was pure pleasure, and the way he held her down only made her burn hotter for him.

She felt herself losing control, twisting her hips for more and arching against him. But then he was gone, his talented tongue replaced by teasing fingers. She swallowed a groan, lost in her dark world of powerlessness and hunger. Her pussy ached for satisfaction, but he seemed determined to keep her at a steady low simmer.

“More?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.
Please!”

His fingers were working up inside her now, those long, manicured fingers stroking,
building
fire upon fire. God, she was soaking wet. He slid his fingers from her flooded pussy down to her asshole. She flinched as he pressed there, but he didn’t withdraw.

“Trust me, Caressa.”

I trust you, I trust you.

He toyed with her pussy and ass, filling her with his fingers and manipulating her, making her hips buck from the shock of his touches. She writhed on the floor in helpless blindness, not wanting to pull away, but still frightened by the intimacy between them. Without sight, every touch and sensation felt multiplied. From time to time, when it seemed too much, he made soothing noises that made her shiver. He was so experienced, so comfortable with this decadence, but the blunt eroticism was so new to her. Did people really play like this in bed?
With no shame, no barriers of propriety between them?
As he soothed her, he asked quiet questions.
How does that feel? Does that hurt? Does it feel good? Do you like it?

She could barely concentrate, moaning answers and struggling against the thigh that held her pinned open to his probing assault. She felt like a top strung tight, about to go off but not quite able to. “Kyle…Sir…
please
!”

He laughed and, in a tumble of limbs, had her turn over on all fours, pressing her head down on her tethered wrists in the front. When she tried to drop her hips, he stopped her and positioned her with her back arched and her ass in the air. She felt exposed—and deliciously dirty—as he went to wash his hands and return. Then she could feel his cock against the back of her thighs. She shivered as his hands came under her chest, fondling her breasts. Then she felt his fingers at her mouth.

“Open.”

She did, because his voice was so sharp and insistent. She felt soft silk against her lips, and realized with a start that he was shoving her own panties into her mouth. She tried to spit them out, pure instinct, but he persisted, pressing them in again until she capitulated. She was blind, bound,
and
speechless now. He took her faculties away so casually, and yet she knew there was a reason behind it all.
Trust me.

He knelt behind her and she moaned softly, aching for penetration as he slid the head of his cock over her clit. She jerked and bit down on the silk wad in her mouth, wanting to beg for more, but unable to.

He leaned over her back so she felt his hard stomach against her, and then he took one of her hands in his. His hair tickled against the side of her face, and he smelled of sex and depravity. His other hand wrapped around her waist and she had the strange feeling of being adrift, tethered to the earth only by him.
She couldn’t see, she couldn’t speak.
She couldn’t move or reach for him. When he started to press into her, she knew true submission. She surrendered to all of it.

He filled her and fulfilled her, driving deep with no latex barrier between them. Just like the submission, her arousal grew without conscious effort or intention. He felt so thick, so hot, pressing forward, riding her like he owned her. She began the thrilling climb to that peak, the shuddering clench and unbearable torture of coming closer and closer to the edge. She couldn’t draw full breath, another blatant reminder of his dominance and her submission. Another reminder of all she was willing to give up for him.

She squeezed his hand, tighter and tighter. When he started to fuck her harder, in an uncontrolled, rough rhythm, she let go and he grasped her neck. Not choking her, no. He held his hand against her windpipe, and it felt protective, not dangerous.
I could hurt you. I could kill you now, but I won’t. I love you.
He’d said he loved her, and she knew she loved him. She’d wanted his possession and she had it. She came, arching back against his cock. Her hands strained in their bonds, and he gave an animal growl that felt like a part of the ecstatic throbbing between her legs. It all converged like some avalanche, or a volcano erupting and burning her.
Brillante
.
Bravura.
Crescendo
magnifico
.

After, he took her panties out so she could speak if she wanted to. Perhaps he wanted her to, wanted to know her thoughts. But all she did was sigh and
wait,
his surrendered prisoner.
A
fermata
, waiting at his discretion, trusting in the consummate skill of his touch.

* * * * *

Kyle shifted in his third-row seat, trying not to jar the portly woman beside him. She was bejeweled and clad in a dark silk gown. Her perfume was cloying. Kyle raised his fingers to his nose, discreetly. He could still smell traces of Caressa on his hands from the fervent finger-fucking he’d given her in the dressing room. He only let himself breathe in the faint scent for a moment, lest the growing bulge in his pants disturb the orchestra denizens around him.

He’d asked her to put on the dress again. Well, not asked. He’d ordered her to wear it, and when he’d left her backstage, she had it on still, minus panties.
Whether or not she made it to the stage in that lovely state remained to be seen.

Either way, it suited him. If she panicked and changed, he could punish her for it. If she wore it, he could reward her. Either way she was his to love, to play with. They were in Cincinnati, on the leg of travels that Caressa jokingly referred to as the “Heartland Tour”.
New Orleans, Minneapolis, Denver, Albuquerque, Pittsburgh, Houston, Dallas—a series of quick trips and more intimate venues.

Since Atlanta, Kyle took great care to get them to the airport on time or even early. He also took great care to keep Caressa surrendered to him, because it seemed to make her happiest, and it sure as hell made things easier for him. When he told her to practice, she practiced. When he told her to drop to her knees, she dropped to her knees. He made her tell him how many mistakes she’d made after each concert, and punished her for them. She hadn’t had a tantrum in weeks, and she’d never played with such concentration. Even Denise commented on it, but Kyle merely smiled and deferred to her talent. It was, after all, all for her.

Perhaps there would be a punishment tonight. The novelty of performing in her striking gown would surely result in a few mild flubs. The mistakes bothered her more than they bothered him and her audience, although his belt or crop seemed to give her some measure of relief.
From her petty musical sins, anyway.

He never addressed the greater issue of whether she played from guilt, nor asked any specific questions about whether this tour was her swan song. He would eventually, but not yet. He was not willing to upset the delicate equilibrium they finally shared.

The house lights went down, not a moment too soon. Speculating about consequences and punishments had him going hard again, no doubt because those punishments were always followed by some pretty intense sex.

The Cincinnati orchestra played first, some charming concerto he could only think of as a warm-up. After it ended, there was a short, expectant pause, and there she was.

In all this time, he hadn’t sat in the seats to watch her. She’d needed him backstage too much. Now when she walked on stage in her sweeping ivory gown, head held high, it took his breath away. She sat in a burgundy upholstered chair in the center of the stage, accepting her instrument from the spiffily-attired stagehand meeting her from stage left.

Kyle felt some insane pang of jealousy at the shy smile she gave him, but then he grew distracted watching her settle the cello between her knees. It was a series of movements that had fascinated him from the start—the parting of the legs, the placement of the arms and fingers. The way she leaned forward, watching the conductor, ready and intently waiting. He’d never seen it so clearly before, only from the obstruction of the wings.

With a start, he recognized the look as the same one she used when he was giving her his provocative directions and requirements. What had he said to her once?
I like to be the conductor. Can you understand that?
If she hadn’t understood then, she seemed to understand now.

She began to play the unfolding, melodic harmonies so familiar to him. He could never catch the mistakes she claimed to make, but he knew the notes she played by heart now, down to every dip and rise of her bow. The dress heightened the graceful movements of her arms as the notes poured from her instrument. It had been a shock to him the first time he’d heard her play in a small hotel room, and even in this vast concert hall her cello sounded powerful. She’d explained the mechanics behind it once, that one of the qualities that made her cello so valuable was its powerful tone. Perhaps it was the tone that struck people, but it was the emotion behind the notes that held him spellbound.

When the concerto ended, Caressa bowed to a standing ovation. It was the first time he saw her look uncomfortable in the dress—and it
would
have been a problem if her lovely breasts were to tumble from the deconstructed bodice. Fortunately, they stayed put and Kyle exhausted himself with all the others, applauding until his hands hurt.

He shouted “Brava!” and her head turned, recognizing his voice over the others.
Yes, you good girl, in your lovely gown.
You sexy little genius.
Her face lit up and she gazed at him for a long moment. As the curtains drew closed and the lights came up to signal intermission, the woman beside him turned with a smile.

“She’s just…” The woman sighed.
“Simply entrancing.
It’s as if she channels the music straight from heaven.”

Kyle’s lips twitched at her melodramatic assessment, but he had to agree. “She is certainly talented.”

“My husband and I have been attending her concerts since she was a young thing.” The woman introduced Kyle to her husband, a thin, distinguished-looking older gentleman. The couple’s excitement and inspiration was palpable. They were fans. Kyle tried to describe it to Caressa later as he took down her hair back at the hotel room. She blushed and was typically self-deprecating. He brushed her hair up over her shoulders, pressing a kiss at the back of her neck.

“It was nice watching you from the seats.”

“Nice?” She gave him a look.

“Breathtaking.
Spectacular.
Spellbinding.”
He reached around to cup her full breasts and pinch and squeeze them absently as he brushed out her hair as well as he could. She was nude, as he was. He required nudity whenever they were together in his hotel room, another form of control. If she wanted to play, she had to strip off all her defenses—and clothing—just inside the door. If she didn’t want to play, she stayed in her own room. The system worked well, and she seemed to thrive on it. She knew once the door was locked, once her clothes were off, she was his to command, fuck, or punish at will. He tipped her chin up and scrutinized her lovely features.

“How many mistakes did you make today?”

His cock twitched at her woe-be-gone look. He wasn’t a real sadist like his old boss had been, but he liked tormenting her. It was her reactions that aroused him, more than any desire to impart pain.

“Well…” She looked away over his shoulder and then back again. “The dress sort of distracted me—”

“I knew you were going to use that excuse.”

“And
you being
in the audience! I was kind of nervous.”

He stroked her cheeks with bemused affection.
“Excuses.
Tell me how many mistakes you made, followed by a
Sir
, girl.”