Military Maledom: An Officer And A Dom (3 page)

Logan grabs one of my hands, twisting
it around my back and looping a much smaller, more useful gauge of
rope around my wrist. I gasp but do not resist—for the life of me,
I don’t know why—as he begins to tie me in a very similar position
to the one he held me in last night, hands to elbows, back
arched.

But this time, Logan goes much
further. He begins to cross the rope over my shoulders, between my
breasts, over the top of my uniform. When a length of rope cuts
into my tender tits, I whimper and squirm, but Logan shoves me hard
against the table with his hips.

“Don’t resist, Eva,” he scolds me. “I
know what you need.”

This is like a dream, like one of my
fantasies. I can’t believe I’m letting Logan dominate me and tie me
up in a base storage room, but I also can’t believe how hard my
nipples are, how wet my cunt is getting as he binds my arms and
breasts. The coup de grace is when he pulls me back from the edge
of the table just long enough to thread a length of rope between my
legs. He jerks it taught, up between my pussy lips right through my
slacks and my soaked panties.

I cry out in panic and pleasure as he
secures the crotch rope to the rigging at my back.

Wrapping his strong arms around me
from behind, Logan holds me for a moment, while my erratic
breathing evens out. “You’ve never been tied like this before, have
you?” he asks, and I shake my head no, not trusting myself to speak
without whimpering and moaning. “There’s more to it than you
realize, but there’s also something else that I have to do to
you.”

The way Logan phrases
that—
something else that I have to do to
you
—makes my clit twitch against the rope.
He takes a set of keys out of his pocket and presses them into one
of my hands.

Stroking his warm fingers against my
chilled, trembling arms, he tells me, “If this gets to be too much
for you, drop the keys and I will know to stop.”

I have a moment to wonder why I can’t
just ask him to stop, before Logan puts a piece of duct tape over
my mouth. Mewing behind the tape, twisting to look back at him, I
blink hard and plead with my eyes.

“Shh,” he coos. “It’s alright.” Logan
strokes my back until my muscles unclench.

That’s when it starts. The way the
commander has rigged the rope allows him to pull firmly on one end
of the lead and tighten everything at once. He inches the lead
tighter, and my back bows harder. My arms twist and strain. The
bindings across my tits shift and cut into my soft mounds, rolling
the rope over my stiff nipples. The crotch rope bites deeper. My
muscles burn and ache. My cunt is throbbing, begging for a rough
fucking.

“Breathe through it,” Logan tells me,
just as he did last night. “Don’t think; just feel.”

I close my eyes and struggle to
breathe through my nose when I really want to gasp for air. My
chest feels constricted.

“Stop fighting it, Eva,” he orders. He
is grinding his hard cock against me now, which makes the crotch
rope shift between my pussy lips, against my anxious, tingling
clit.

I moan behind the tape, low and long,
which helps slow my breathing.

Logan pumps his hips against my ass.
“That’s it, baby. Feel that. You like that rope between your legs,
rubbing your little clit?”

Hearing Logan talking dirty to me
floods my body with warmth, and I groan, sagging down toward the
table.

“A little more,” I hear him say a
moment before he pulls on the lead again, increasing the
constriction squeezing the air and the pleasure out of me. When I
start to pant again, Logan tells me firmly, “No, Eva. Relax into
it.”

This time I concentrate on doing as
Logan says. I squeeze my eyes shut and work the air in and out of
my chest. After a few moments, I realize I can hear my heartbeat in
my ears, feel it against the inside of my chest and in my
fingertips, in my nipples and my clit.

“Good,” Logan says, and I heat further
at the praise. When his fingers slide up the curve of my breasts to
pluck at my hard nipples through the fabric of my uniform top, I
don’t tense. I hang my head and only shift back and forth very
slightly, rubbing the rigid nibs against his fingers. “Yes, that’s
what I want. That’s what you want.”

No, what I want is for Logan to pinch
my nipples hard, to pull and twist them. Instead he rubs and
teases, flicking lightly. I keen into my gag, then thrill when one
of his hands trails down to the rope where it is biting deep
between the lips of my slit. He works the rope back and forth over
my soft, sensitive nub, and I moan and toss my head. I’m gripping
those keys so hard they’re gouging my palm.

All concerns of being discovered, all
bitterness about a bad experience with someone else, all
self-consciousness fly from my mind. I’m just squirming my hips
against the shifting ropes and Logan’s deft fingers, arching back
against his steel-hard dick. Feeling my bound breasts tingle and my
pussy throb with want. My breath falls in time with the grinding
motion of Logan’s hips, as he winds my body up until a long, hot,
slow orgasm crests and washes over me from scalp to curling
toes.

“Good girl,” Logan groans roughly and
pulls me back against his chest, still working his hips against my
ass as bliss sheets down me like hot rain. I shiver against him,
and my knees tremble with weakness. I’m not sure I’d still be
standing if not for Logan’s arms and the table before
me.

With his hand on the back on my neck,
Logan pushes me forward, until my cheek is resting on the cool,
pitted wood of the table. His hips rock against me for a few
seconds more. Afloat in bliss, I am so ready for him to fuck
me.

Instead, the rope around me eases, as
Logan begins to untie me. Languorous and warm, I don’t try to
straighten up or untangle myself. It is Logan’s strong arm, wrapped
around my shoulders, that urges me a few inches up off the table,
so he can remove the tape from my lips. I surprise myself when all
I do is slide my palms along the wood, my arms above my head, and
stretch. Closing my eyes, I linger in the moment. I almost mew in
protest when Logan’s hard body moves away from mine.

I am just standing up,
rolling my shoulders and shirking off the loops of rope, when Logan
reappears beside me and puts a white mug down before me on the
table. Along the side scrolls
U.S.S.
Helena
in blue script above a rendering of
the ship’s several incarnations.

“Starr’s mug? How—? I’ve been looking
for that everywhere.”

Logan sidles up near, running the back
of his curled fingers along my sweat-dampened cheek. “Sometimes you
get so busy that you don’t see what’s right in front of
you.”

I blush, look away, look back, into
those light eyes. “We’re still talking about the mug,
right?”

But now it is Logan’s turn to smile
evasively. He glances up at the wall clock. It’s almost time to
knock off. “Ready for your weekend?” he asks.

My brows knit. “But what about you?” I
glance down at the incredible bulge in his uniform pants. I don’t
think it’s the color that makes it look that big. “Don’t you want
to…?”

Logan’s hand rests guidingly,
possessively on the back of my neck as he bends his head over mine.
“Yes, I want to,” he says huskily. “Bad enough to want to bend you
back over this table right now. But I have other things in mind for
you, Eva, and I want those more than a quick fuck in a storage
room.”

A shiver darts up my spine. “What
other things?”

“Mm, you’ll have to wait to find out.”
With his eyes, he motions toward the clock. “Quitting
time.”

***

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but
I’ve never been known for my patience. And god but this afternoon
was incredible. The thought that I might at least wait one day
peters out pretty quickly. Just three hours after saying a
reluctant goodbye to Logan at the base, I steel myself to walk up
the drive to the house he’s renting.

My black platform heels—dangerously
close to stripper-wear—clack against the pavement as I navigate the
winding path up to the house. The breeze tosses my loose hair and
the black silk of my blouse. The short pencil skirt is too tight to
ripple in the wind and damn near too tight to sit in. Cradled in my
arms is a fruit basket.

When I’m almost halfway up the walk, I
realize the garage door is open. Movement draws my eyes, and I
follow it. Inside the garage, I find Logan in jeans and a smeared
white tee-shirt, wrench in hand as he tinkers with a motorcycle to
one side of the concrete pad. He tosses down the wrench and
straightens to his full height to watch me as I cautiously venture
toward him.

About three steps from Logan, I pause,
feeling incredibly awkward. Terrified I’m presuming too much by
getting his address from Hank via Abby and showing here
unannounced. “After you helped me find that mug, I figured I really
did owe you a thank you.”

Logan glances down at my arms and
bites back a grin. “A fruit basket.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle nervously. “Fruit
basket.”

Riveting me in place with his gaze,
the commander steps forward and eases the basket from my shaking
hands. Now I don’t know what to do with them, so I wring them
behind my back.

“Thank you,” he breathes and moves to
a work bench along the wall, settling the basket there. Facing me,
watching me, Logan peels off his tee-shirt and uses it to wipe the
grease off his hands. The sight of his bare chest dominates my
attention. His skin is smooth, almost hairless, moderately tanned,
with deep definition especially down the middle of his abs. My gaze
follows the roll of those muscles until they disappear below the
waistband of his jeans. A familiar—and enticing—bulge is forming
there, matching the ache building in my pussy.

Tossing down the shirt, Logan walks
away to wash his hands and forearms at a mud sink in the back of
the garage. The silence is like a spring winding in my stomach,
threatening to break me. He comes back to me clean and dry,
half-nude and smiling, and it’s a small victory that I can resist
throwing myself into his arms.

“You didn’t come here to bring me a
fruit basket, Eva.” He tilts his head down slightly and looks
coaxingly at me from under his lashes. “Do you know why you came to
me?”

I open my mouth, my glossy lips, but I
don’t know what to say. Do I have the presence of mind to come up
with something coy on the fly? Or should I go the direct route and
tell him I want to finish what we started in the storage room
today? In the end, I just close my mouth and swallow hard around
the knot in my throat.

Logan draws near enough that I can
smell soap and water and just a hint of musky male skin. “You want
to give me something else, Eva?”

I nod. Me. I want to give him
me.

The little-boy grin on Logan’s face
says he knows what I’m not saying. His pale eyes shift to regard
the street, behind me through the garage door, before returning to
my face. “I’m going to close that door, Lieutenant, to give us some
privacy. If you’re still inside when it hits the floor, I’m going
to do very dirty things to you. Things I very much doubt any other
man has ever done to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, barely
audible.

“That’s “sir”, Lieutenant.”

At a loss, mouth open, I hesitate
before responding, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he breathes, a caress
across the inches between us. Then he walks to the wall and presses
a button that starts the garage door moving. I jump when it
clatters on its rails, grating along my nerves. The bang as it hits
the concrete floor booms with ominous finality.

Logan walks around behind me,
surprising me when he threads his fingers through my hair low on my
scalp. He pulls my head back by the hair, so slowly but with
building pressure, until he can lavish my mouth with a hot, wet,
penetrating kiss. The contrasting sensations—the velvety softness
of his mouth and the sharp pull on my hair—make me alternately
flush with heat and shiver with electrifying chills.

“Tonight you’re mine,” he murmurs
against my open, hungry mouth. “You’re my beautiful little slut. My
slave. I’m going to use you for my pleasure in ways that will push
your ideas of what you think you want. Do you trust me enough to
let me do that, Eva?”

I stare up into the tanned face, pale
eyes, dusty rose lips, the cleft below his boyish half-smile. “Yes,
sir.”

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs,
before his hands move quickly and roughly to jerk my blouse open. I
mew my distress loudly as Logan’s hands grab and grope my flushed
tits through my black bra. He yanks it down, so that my full
breasts fall into his hands. “That’s what I want,” he growls into
my ear from behind. “Show me those bare tits. Push your chest out,
Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir” I gasp. At my sides, my
hands are balled into tight fists, fingernails stabbing into my
palms. I don’t know what to do, beyond what Logan tells me to. The
sensations—his voice talking dirty into my ear, his rough hands
kneading my sensitive mounds, his hard cock jabbing against my
ass—are so overwhelming that I can’t process them all at
once.