Read Online Vampire Mistress by Joey W. Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joey W. Hill
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that same soothing stroke, as if she understood how close he was to losing it. Her knuckles drifted over his chest, drawing little circles in the oil over his nipples, teasing them, then up to his jaw, painting that same slickness over his lips, stretched over the ball gag. The caress sent electricity straight down to his groin. The oil had a tart lemon flavor.
“Easy,” she crooned. She moved her fingers along his nape as she shifted behind him, following the curve of his spine, down the oily line of one ass cheek. His cock bucked hard in its restraints; then he tensed up like a virgin as her fingers probed. “Nice and tight.”
He made a helpless growl, a denial, as her fingers eased in, then . . . oh, holy Christ. The blunt end of a dildo. “No, no!” He shouted it against the gag, yanking against his restraints. The rings tightened against his cock, biting hard enough that the pain rocketed up his body. Fuck. He groaned.
The dildo continued to fondle his rim. She wasn’t trying to push in, just caressing, stimulating, making his cock ache in a decidedly disturbing way. “I see scars on your back here . . . and here . . . and here. Everywhere. Terrible things, terrible moments. Yet you fear this? Though you’ve obviously never had anything in your ass, you know this little cock won’t hurt you as badly as these things did.” Her other hand settled on a jagged knife scar, eased down to press on two shiny bullet marks. “What you fear is what it might do to you. What you might reveal to me about your desires. Your needs.”
“Fuck you.” The gag interfered, saliva sprayed, but he was pretty sure she got the drift. Her laugh was soft, mocking.
“That has to be earned.” Both hands went up under his hair, gripped and pulled back so the collar put pressure on his throat. “Behave, angry man.”
The fact the dildo was still at the lower level told him she was wearing it as a strap-on. Fuck. He didn’t realize how hard he was clenched until she gave his buttock a playful pinch, setting him off balance. “You know,” she said, “if a child holds his breath, all you have to do is wait for the body’s survival instinct to kick in and force him to breathe again. Sometimes you have to wait until he passes out for that to happen, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
It was as if they were holding a casual conversation in a park, rather than her circling his completely restrained naked body in a room that echoed every purring word. “Easy, Gideon. You’re going to want how this makes you feel.”
Subjugated. Dominated. Nothing. Used. And yet, under her touch, those words seemed different, more provocative than condemning. Even so, he couldn’t get himself to relax. Every muscle remained rigid, his buttocks clenched tight. He made another furious, strangled noise of protest.
Her palms pressed on his buttocks like wings, her thumbs teasing the seam before they moved up his back again, slow, firm, a thorough massage that traveled up to his shoulders. Leaning into his body, despite the oil, she pressed hers against the planes and valleys of his torso and ass. The phallus slid innocuously between his legs, stroking his testicles. Her thigh pressed to the inside of his, making his balls draw up at the friction.
“Do you understand what you’re looking for here, Gideon? We have men who seek pain and restraint for one reason. To give themselves permission to be helpless, to cry for what they’ve lost, what they can’t control. But you’d rather die than be that vulnerable, right?”
He was swaying into her touch, that erotic kneading. It was as if she was individually assessing every muscle in his shoulders, his back, then along his nape, pulling his head back onto his shoulders again, tugging at his scalp, reminding him of the collar around his neck and stimulating nerves there as well. As she shifted, her breasts rubbed beneath his shoulder blades, her nipples a distinct, tantalizing pressure
“Easy,” she crooned. She moved her fingers along his nape as she shifted behind him, following the curve of his spine, down the oily line of one ass cheek. His cock bucked hard in its restraints; then he tensed up like a virgin as her fingers probed. “Nice and tight.”
He made a helpless growl, a denial, as her fingers eased in, then . . . oh, holy Christ. The blunt end of a dildo. “No, no!” He shouted it against the gag, yanking against his restraints. The rings tightened against his cock, biting hard enough that the pain rocketed up his body. Fuck. He groaned.
The dildo continued to fondle his rim. She wasn’t trying to push in, just caressing, stimulating, making his cock ache in a decidedly disturbing way. “I see scars on your back here . . . and here . . . and here. Everywhere. Terrible things, terrible moments. Yet you fear this? Though you’ve obviously never had anything in your ass, you know this little cock won’t hurt you as badly as these things did.” Her other hand settled on a jagged knife scar, eased down to press on two shiny bullet marks. “What you fear is what it might do to you. What you might reveal to me about your desires. Your needs.”
“Fuck you.” The gag interfered, saliva sprayed, but he was pretty sure she got the drift. Her laugh was soft, mocking.
“That has to be earned.” Both hands went up under his hair, gripped and pulled back so the collar put pressure on his throat. “Behave, angry man.”
The fact the dildo was still at the lower level told him she was wearing it as a strap-on. Fuck. He didn’t realize how hard he was clenched until she gave his buttock a playful pinch, setting him off balance. “You know,” she said, “if a child holds his breath, all you have to do is wait for the body’s survival instinct to kick in and force him to breathe again. Sometimes you have to wait until he passes out for that to happen, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
It was as if they were holding a casual conversation in a park, rather than her circling his completely restrained naked body in a room that echoed every purring word. “Easy, Gideon. You’re going to want how this makes you feel.”
Subjugated. Dominated. Nothing. Used. And yet, under her touch, those words seemed different, more provocative than condemning. Even so, he couldn’t get himself to relax. Every muscle remained rigid, his buttocks clenched tight. He made another furious, strangled noise of protest.
Her palms pressed on his buttocks like wings, her thumbs teasing the seam before they moved up his back again, slow, firm, a thorough massage that traveled up to his shoulders. Leaning into his body, despite the oil, she pressed hers against the planes and valleys of his torso and ass. The phallus slid innocuously between his legs, stroking his testicles. Her thigh pressed to the inside of his, making his balls draw up at the friction.
“Do you understand what you’re looking for here, Gideon? We have men who seek pain and restraint for one reason. To give themselves permission to be helpless, to cry for what they’ve lost, what they can’t control. But you’d rather die than be that vulnerable, right?”
He was swaying into her touch, that erotic kneading. It was as if she was individually assessing every muscle in his shoulders, his back, then along his nape, pulling his head back onto his shoulders again, tugging at his scalp, reminding him of the collar around his neck and stimulating nerves there as well. As she shifted, her breasts rubbed beneath his shoulder blades, her nipples a distinct, tantalizing pressure
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