He gazed adoringly down at her.
“If I didn’t have guests, I would have given you enough to take you there, Simone. Sadly, I do. So you’ll have to wait,” he murmured, his hand shifting, fingers carefully arranging the material of her swimsuit to cover her bottom. “Now, the rules. Today, for you, I’ll hide how demonstrative I intend to be in the future. However, I won’t hide where I intend us to be, who you are to me and your place at my side. Am I understood?”
No, he was not.
There was a lot of ground to go over, with all of that.
She nodded.
“Good,” he said softly and let her go.
She tried out her pegs, fortunately found they stood strong, if a little wobbly, and watched him bend to the bed to nab her shades.
He did not give them to her.
He slid the arm of them in the opening of his shirt.
They were Chanel. They had rhinestones. They were huge and flashy and feminine.
And she shot right back to near orgasm seeing he did not give that first shit about any of that.
Because they were hers.
“Your wrap, sweetheart,” he prompted when all she seemed to be able to do was stare at her sunnies in his shirt.
Distractedly, she twisted to where she’d dropped the wrap on the bed, reached, and took up the thin silk.
Stellan took her hand and used it to tug her across the bedroom space, down the stairs, through the living room space and out the door.
One thing this all explained. He was likely as fit as he was because if she was wearing a FitBit, she knew it would tell her that they’d walked their daily ten thousand steps simply traversing his bedroom.
He led her down the hall, but not to the stairs, to the one closed door.
He turned to her.
“Would you like to put that on?” he asked, indicating her sarong with another dip of his head.
Mutely, she looked down, let out the material, then positioned it at her hips where she tied it in a knot at her hipbone.
“Mm…” he purred.
Her clit buzzed at the sound, her head went back, and she saw his eyes at her hips.
They came to hers, and he gave her that wicked smile before he turned to the door, opened it, took up her hand again and led her in.
She again came to a dead halt.
Stellan closed the door.
“As I said,” he started, sliding an arm around her waist, turning her so her front was pressed to his side, but her head stayed facing forward, her eyes riveted to what was displayed on the floor, “I’d get you some playthings for the party. I got you some playthings for the party. You know Ami. You also might remember Tip. The last is Jennifer. She can be used should you be feeling generous to the boys. She’s on loan from Victor today for your amusement.”
Well, that answered that.
The future uses for Flamma.
Because there he was, on his knees, thighs splayed, head bowed, arms held behind his back.
Next to him, in the same position, was the well-endowed waiter that brought her the drink at the gladiator pit.
She’d already noted Stellan noticed everything.
But apparently, Stellan missed absolutely nothing.
Both were wearing what the waiter had been wearing: the laced-up chastity cage attached to the black belt.
That was it.
She studied Ami’s bald head.
She then studied Tip’s dark one.
Finally, her gaze went to Jennifer, who was not on her knees, but on her hip, her legs curled in an “s” at her side, her upper body resting into a hand on the floor, but her blonde head was bowed. She wore nothing but what could loosely be termed as a black bathing suit, but it was only strips of material that ran up from a vee at her fully-waxed pubis, over her nipples, her shoulders, probably to disappear in the crevice of her ass.
Stellan again put his mouth to Sixx’s ear, and when he spoke, it was low, only for her to hear.
“You look, you command, you watch, you enjoy … but again, Simone, you do not touch. They are yours to do with as you will. They have no hard limits that you could hit at this party. But they all share the safe word ‘zebra’ just in case you get creative. And you need to know, Tip is hetero as well. But that is not a hard limit, or he wouldn’t have been chosen.”
When she just stood there in his hold, staring down at the bounty she’d been offered, Stellan spoke again.
“Darling, is there a way you’d like to prepare them for the party?”
The better question was, was there a way she wouldn’t like them prepared for the party?
“Boys, lean back on your hands,” she ordered.
They did, almost in unison.
All that muscled meat.
A thing of beauty.
She drew in a delicate breath.
“Jennifer,” she called on the exhale. “Unsnap the cages at the bottom and suck them hard. When you’ve done that, loosen the laces at the top, cinch them back in with their cockheads free, the rest of them caged. If I see them anything but rigid for the rest of the afternoon, this won’t make me happy. And I want not only their shafts, but their balls shiny, and I don’t mean oil.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she replied and moved, going first to Tip.
Sixx looked to Ami and found his attention to her.
The instant he got hers, his eyes lowered.
My, my, my.
He was going to make some Mistress very fortunate one day.
“Is she pleasing to you, Ami?” Sixx asked, her tone less commanding, more gentle.
“Yes, Mistress,” he answered.
“Would you like to fuck her?” she went on.
“Yes, Mistress,” he repeated.
“When you earn it, I’ll enjoy watching that,” she murmured.
“I’ll enjoy pleasing you,” he replied.
“I’ve no doubt you will,” she said.
She looked to Jennifer, who was curled into a ball and bobbing on Tip’s large and growing larger cock.
Her attention switched back to Ami to see his expression had grown slightly pained.
Her eyes dropped.
He was getting hard behind the confines of his cage.
“You’re welcome to watch your partner get blown, Ami,” she offered.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he muttered, his eyes moving to the action.
Hers did the same.
As she watched, Stellan’s hand shifted down to curl around a cheek of her heated behind.
Her eyes lifted to his profile to find his gaze aimed down at Jennifer.
That was when it struck her.
Now she was not Simone.
She was Sixx, he was Stellan, Mistress and Master, enjoying their subs. His hold was claiming, and sent a message, but it was not commanding. Not now.
In his bedroom, she was his.
Here, she was a different kind of his.
His message was he could give it all to her. Everything she needed.
And everything she wanted.
But she knew that by the look of his bedroom.
Hell, by the existence of Margarita.
No, by a frigging auditorium.
His head turned, and his beautiful blue eyes caught hers.
They flared.
Then they warmed.
“Believe in it,” he whispered, pressing in with his hand, tightening her in his hold, again reading her thoughts. “It’s right there, sweetheart.”
“I can get this on my own,” she told him the truth.
His fingers curled in, taking the fabric of her sarong and rubbing it against her still-stinging ass cheek under the tight material of her swimsuit.
She bit the inside of her lip.
He didn’t miss it.
“No you can’t,” he returned.
“I need a drink,” she replied.
He grinned and slid his fingers out, smoothing the silk over her swimsuit at her behind.
“I think Ami would be disappointed if you didn’t let him serve you while in your presence,” he shared.
“Since when did we allow subs to dictate the proceedings?” she asked.
“For my part, darling, the only slave I care about, she’ll be dictating everything.”
A cascade of tremors fluttered along the insides of her thighs.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem to require a response to that.
“Tell me, how many blows would failing to call and being late have earned one of your playthings?” he asked curiously.
“None, by hand. I’d use a switch,” she answered condescendingly, like he’d blown it.
Which he had not.
“Something to remember,” he murmured, his lips twitching.