Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel (47 page)

Savannah’s lips parted, eyes clinging to him. Matt gave her a look that was pure sin and all love, a Master’s devotion, as he slowly removed his hand from behind her and then pushed two of those fingers into her waiting mouth. She sucked on them, tasting herself, her hand still gripped in his shirt, her body shifting now so she was on her other hip, fully facing him. He gathered her up in a curl around his body, leaning over her once again as he stroked the narrow line of her back, her hip, the round shape of her buttocks and down to the backs of her thighs, the erogenous area behind her knees.

Since Savannah was in his lap, Celeste couldn’t see the physical evidence of Matt’s own arousal, but she was sure Savannah was feeling that engorged state directly. She wondered when and how he’d find release and wished they did play publicly.

A breath later, she got her wish. They’d joked about the pheromone-like effect Ben and Marcie’s chemistry had released upon the wedding attendees, but that, and the trusted nature of this group, seemed to be inspiring the most conservative public player of the K&A group to break protocol.

After succoring her through her aftermath, Matt brought his wife back to her feet, having her stand between his spread knees. Since her legs were still bound from ankle to knee, he kept both hands on her, steadying her as he prepared her for what he wanted. He slid her panties out from under the skirt and left them at her knees, then adjusted her flirty skirt in the back so it appeared he was tucking it into the slim belt that delineated her trim waist.

Though Celeste didn’t have a clear view of it, it was obvious Matt was freeing his cock from the slacks one-handed, because he kept one stabilizing hand on Savannah at all times. A good precaution, because Savannah still looked a little unsteady from the force of her climax. Now both of those strong, capable hands were back on her waist, and Celeste’s lips parted the same way Savannah’s did as Matt obviously guided his sub back onto his waiting cock, seating her with a little extra thrust that made her gasp. The filmy fabric of her skirt preserved her modesty mostly in the front, but it was still undeniably erotic, watching Savannah’s face contort, a mixture of pleasure and probably a good kind of discomfort from his size as he held her firm, made her take him deep.

He spread a palm over her back, bending her forward to give them both the right angle as she clung to his knees, gasping. He adjusted his grip to her hair and hip to hold her where he wanted her as he began to stroke slowly, his gaze never leaving the nape of her neck. He was murmuring to her again. She saw the plea break from Savannah’s lips. Matt leaned over her, pushing her hair out of the way to put his mouth against her nape, band both arms over her chest. Savannah gripped his arms, held on, and the two of them rocked to a completion, a second orgasm sweeping the blonde when her Master released inside her, thrusting hard enough the couch was vibrating with the force.

When they came to a halt, breathing deeply together, Savannah lifted one of his hands, pressed her face into it. They were still rocking, only it was slow now, the rhythm of a cradle. Matt slowly drew out of her and adjusted, clothing himself once more before he eased her back into the cradle of his lap, turning her so her feet were up on the sofa as she wound her arms around him.

Celeste had been moving sinuously against Leland’s groin in an ever more insistent coital rhythm during Matt and Savannah’s lovemaking, and his hands were hard on her hips, so that grind rebounded right into her core, but he still wouldn’t let her turn. He cupped her breast, thumb passing over her nipple.

“Please…”

“Keep looking, sub. Remember, I want you beyond begging.”

What was beyond begging? A state of arousal so fierce it paralyzed the vocal chords and riveted every single sense on the object of her desire, what she needed more than anything else? Something she’d give her soul to have? Wasn’t that how he’d defined it?

She jumped at a sharp
crack
. Gen’s arms were bound to a vertical frame that kept them straight out from the sides of her body, and her Mistress had stripped her, except for one garment. Though she hadn’t been wearing panties earlier, Gen was now, a pair of ivory panties that rode up and creased in a sweetly vulnerable way over her pale buttocks. Lyda moved around her, fondling a breast, touching her face, letting Gen kiss her fingers. Then she adjusted to the right, nodding to Noah.

Noah stood a few paces behind her. He’d changed out of his black slacks into a pair of black latex pants that clung to his muscular buttocks and lean thighs. They revealed in mouthwatering detail how aroused he was. Still no shirt, so the tattoo rippled across his back as he threw the whip, popped it again just above Gen’s shoulder. When she flinched, Celeste saw the bloom of a faint red mark. But her friend didn’t seem like she minded. She rolled her head, shifted her feet as if she wanted more. When Lyda ran her fingers over the filmy crotch of the panties, her slight smile, the avaricious glow in her eyes, confirmed Gen was soaked with arousal.

Lyda glanced toward Ben. Following her gaze, Celeste saw the two Doms were coordinating their efforts. He’d put Marcie on all fours on the bed, arms and ankles wrapped in the chained cuffs that had been left there for that purpose. In this position Marcie was facing Noah so she could watch the whip demonstration as promised, though Celeste had a feeling she hadn’t anticipated her Dom integrating it into their own session in such a way. Ben hit her with that scary paddle right after Noah landed that blow, so Gen’s tiny yelp was matched by Marcie’s cry. Noah struck twice then, a crisscross, and Ben did the same, hitting each buttock in a sweeping movement.

Celeste’s mouth was dry. When Noah ramped up his strokes, so did Ben, until Marcie was letting out a cry with every impact. As her cries escalated, Ben fit his bride with a rectangular gag like the one Celeste had experienced. This one had a larger phallus, something that stretched Marcie’s mouth to capacity over it, but the rectangular patch sealed over her lips the same way. As Celeste remembered, it would suppress the screams, intensifying the sensations.

Once she was watching, Celeste found herself entranced, unable to look away from Marcie’s subjugation. It wasn’t the extreme pain Ben was dishing out—that part made Celeste flinch—but how Marcie gave everything up to her Master, matching every harsh demand with a pleading look in her tear-filled eyes. It was a plea for mercy, but not from the pain. Her nipples were tight, and Celeste was sure she was so aroused the barest touch would send her catapulting into climax.

She remembered vividly how Ben could take a woman past reason into pure insanity, just to please him. She’d told Leland at the beginning that she needed pain to get past her personal shit, and he’d proven that wasn’t the case. She needed a mix of things—his total command, some pain, but it was the tenderness, applied at critical moments, that undermined all her defenses.

She didn’t have it in her to want or accept Ben’s kind of physical punishment for sexual pleasure. Not on a regular basis. But Marcie was yin to his yang. She looked as if she’d let Ben do anything to her and just ask for more.

No matter how true that was, she was worried about her friend, because it looked like Marcie couldn’t possibly handle any more. Celeste broke the rules about not looking at her Master, but she knew it was for the right reasons. She glanced up at Leland for reassurance, her hand gripping his thick wrist at her waist.

“It’s all right,” he whispered in her ear. “Watch how he strokes her between every blow. How he caresses her hair, her ass, how he trails his fingers down her spine, her upper thighs. He never forgets her, Celeste. He knows just how much she needs to fly. She’s not his whipping post. She’s the center of his world. The way you are for me.”

Celeste swallowed, her stomach jumping with thrilling response beneath his hand. He trailed his lips along her throat again, nipped her shoulder. “Keep watching, darlin’.”

Noah was proving his artisanship with the whip, striking wherever Lyda indicated, leaving a mix of red marks that had Gen bucking in her bonds. Lyda came to her, kissed her frantic mouth, gazed at her with an assessing look. Her words carried to Celeste. “All done, rabbit?”

Gen nodded, her forehead hard against Lyda’s cheek. The woman brought Gen’s head down so it was against her shoulder, and curved her arm over Gen’s nape, her hand spreading over the crown of her head to hold her there, and met Noah’s gaze. “Five of your prettiest strikes, Noah, and then you get to put your cock inside her. Make the last one count. I want her feeling it for a few days.”

The strikes
were
pretty, the whip becoming a sinuous snake in his hand. Celeste wondered how a submissive had learned to handle a whip with such mastery. Noah must step into the role of a service top quite frequently. The one thing consistent about the BDSM world was how it resisted definitions. She only had to look at every different dynamic here to prove that.

His last throw was a short, hard pop on Gen’s ass that bloomed into a precise red circle the size of a penny. Gen let out a short shriek, but Lyda caught it, kissing her mouth.

“Pretty damn impressive.” Leland pursed his lips.

“What? Making a woman scream?” Celeste muttered. He caressed her arms, reassuring her once again.

“The whip play. Often when a more forceful stroke is applied, it’s a length of the popper that hits, leaving a slash mark. To do it off the tip end, that drawback point when it cracks, is when you get that small circle mark instead. Takes practice and precision. Boy has both. And see? Your friend is being rewarded for taking the pain.”

Lyda was running her hand down Gen’s back to cup her buttock, soothe the offended skin. The succor was balanced by a pinch that made Gen jump, though Noah knelt behind her and followed that rough treatment with soothing licks of his tongue. He moved to her buttocks, cupping them in both hands and parting the curves to give Gen’s rim a tongue fucking that had her crying out for different reasons

“Look there,” Leland said, drawing her attention to yet another scene unfolding. Since Marcie and Cassandra were sisters, Celeste hadn’t been sure how this group dynamic would work for them. She saw Lucas’s interest had been caught by a hammock frame on the other side of the loft from Ben and Marcie. Celeste wondered if the extra cushion of space wasn’t merely because of the sexual component, but maybe because Cassandra also had difficulty watching her sister take those incredible punishments Ben could dish out.

Either way, Lucas was keeping her well distracted. He had Cassandra lashed on the hammock frame and blindfolded. He’d tilted her back on the web so her knees were higher than her head. As a result, he didn’t have to bend more than a few inches to thread his hands through the ropes, grip her thighs and put his mouth between her legs. She was making harsh noises of pleasure, and when Lucas lifted his head, she saw how glistening wet Cass’s cunt was, her thighs marked as if he’d already brought her to climax this way and intended to keep doing it.

They had company on that side of the loft. Peter had Dana strapped to one of the fucking machines, and was squatting on his heels, studying his petite submissive as she fought her orgasm on hands and knees. Peter’s military-short hair just emphasized the corded neck and broad shoulders. His black T-shirt drew Celeste’s gaze to the
Don’t Tread on Me
tattoo on his biceps. Despite his intimidating appearance and the stern Master’s expression, his touch on Dana’s nape was as gentle as if he was touching a baby bird.

Celeste hadn’t had a chance to meet the other couples before the lights dimmed, but Dana was going down on one of the women, a Hispanic brunette with large breasts, dark, long-lashed eyes and scarlet-painted lips stretched back from her teeth in a captivating expression of arousal. Peter held a pair of clover nipple clamps. Based on Dana’s urgency, Celeste guessed he was threatening her with the painful things if she didn’t bring the woman to climax before her own overtook her. Yet he had every intention of making her fail. As Celeste watched, he put his hand beneath his wife and began to play with her small nipples as the fucking machine kept doing his work. Celeste had to bite back a strained smile as she detected Dana’s creative curse.

These were just the opening acts. They’d probably go on well until the dawn. Every coupling, every surrender, every command, would honor Ben and Marcie’s union and what such a union could and should mean.

The air was saturated with sex and need, every desire made manifest. Celeste’s nape was damp with perspiration when Leland kissed it and pushed her dress to her waist, cupped her breasts in their lace cups, squeezed and fondled. “Rub your ass against me, sweet darlin’. Tell me how much you need me. How much you want your Master to take all your choices away and fuck you until you can’t walk without his help.”

She was already rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat, and when he reached into the cups, finding her nipples to give them a rolling pinch, she jerked hard against him, crying out. “Please…” It was the only word she knew with him right now.

“So should I do all of it to you, darlin’? Every single thing? Or is there something in particular you just have to have, right this minute? Ask me nicely, and you might get your wish.”

She could barely breathe. She knew what she wanted, but that didn’t matter. He would make the decision. She understood that, but she also understood why he wanted her to say it. By saying it, she was acknowledging his right to make that decision, and trusting him enough to follow whatever he decided. Wanting what he wanted as much as what she wanted herself, because it was somehow all the same.

“I want…what my Master said he wanted. To take me here, in front of all of them. To show them…I’m his.”

“Yeah, you are. Every beautiful, difficult inch of you.” He kissed the top of her head. “I want you out of this dress.”

He pushed it off, holding her arm to steady her as she stepped free of it, leaving her in her black low cut bra, lace thong panties, a pair of thigh highs and her heels. He took the dress, folded it over a chair. He also stripped out of his jacket, revealing more of his powerful upper torso clad in the snug white T-shirt. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he leaned down to speak in her ear. “Walk to the bed to the right of Ben and Marcie. The one that’s under the spotlight, that everyone can see. I’m going to be behind you, watching the way your hips move, the tilt of your ass in your heels, and thinking about how those pretty tits of yours quiver as you move.”