“We learned a lot of those in training. Good for self-defense.”
“Good for kink,” she said. “But it’s more than talent. True, the man can kill a fly with the tip of a whip. But he can also break someone down in a way that...I don’t know.” She stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know anyone who can put someone back together by breaking them apart like he can. You leave him with your body limping and your heart soaring.”
“Is that what you’re doing to me?”
“Are you limping yet?”
“No, Mistress. Soaring.”
Nora smiled at his back, smiled so he couldn’t see it. If he kept this up she would collar him before the night was over and that would be about the worst idea in the history of the Underground. She’d left a man who’d collared her and tied her down. The last thing she’d ever do was chain someone up in the very bonds she’d escaped.
“Time check?”
“Twenty-eight minutes, Mistress.”
“Oh, good. I’m getting horny.”
“That would make two of us.”
“Really? Prove it,” she said as she unlocked first his right then his left wrist from the cross.
She stood back and waited, her arms crossed over her chest.
Lance unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. As he stood in his boxer briefs, he smoothed and folded his pants. She took them from him as he stripped out of his underwear. Now Nora whistled. The man had the most magnificent thighs she’d ever seen. A hard ridge of muscle traveled straight from his knee to his hip. She’d bite that muscle tonight and see if she chipped a tooth.
“I could die on your quads,” she said. “Or between them. Seriously, can you crush coconuts with those thighs?”
“I’d say thank you but that’s the last part of my body I was hoping you would notice, Mistress.” He said the words with a rueful smile.
“Oh, I noticed that, too. Hard to miss it.” She stepped forward and wrapped her hand around his thick, hard inches.
Lance gave a labored breath as she stroked him. He probably wanted her to take a firm grip and stroke harder, so instead she merely grazed him with her fingertips, touching him as lightly as possible. His stomach muscles contracted.
“How good is your orgasm control?” She teased the tip with one finger and felt fluid on her skin, a drop or two. She massaged it back into the head.
“Decent. You order me not to come, and I won’t come. I can’t last much longer than a week or two, though, or it’ll happen in my sleep.”
“How old are you?” She stroked the underside of his cock with the back of her hand.
“Thirty-six, Mistress.”
“You’ve played with a Domme before?”
“My first real relationship was with a Domme.” Lance closed his eyes as she cupped his testicles.
“Really? How old were you when you were with her?”
Lance opened his eyes and smiled at her.
“Eighteen to twenty-two. College.”
“Not many college girls are tough enough to top men. Takes a few years to get to that point.” Nora wrapped her whole hand around him and tugged.
“This college girl was a beautiful, tall, dark-haired professor in her late thirties with a wicked mind and a wickeder flogging arm.”
“Fucking a professor? I love it.”
She stroked him harder to show her approval.
“She fucked me, Mistress. I might have been inside her, but it was always at her whim and command.”
“My kind of gal. Anyone since then?” She kept stroking him, testing his endurance, his ability to keep himself from coming.
“Here and there. Only professionals since then. No one in the past six years.”
“Why not?”
He sighed heavily.
“I got married. Bad idea.”
“Worst idea I’ve ever heard. Divorced?”
“Yes.”
“Good. She wasn’t kinky?”
“Just so you know, Mistress, talking about my marriage is the best orgasm control there is. If we talk about it, I can guarantee I won’t be coming anytime soon.”
Laughing, she took the hint. She could tell there was a lot more to that story, but she didn’t press him for it. He didn’t come down to her dungeon for a therapy session. Pain and sex were on the menu tonight. They’d save the getting to know each other bullshit for later.
“Since I do want you coming at some point tonight, I’ll ask you about your ex-wife another time when I’m feeling really sadistic. For now how about you follow me...” Without letting go of him, she took a step back and led him slowly and carefully to a leather-covered kneeling bench, not unlike the kind found at prayer shrines.
“I’ll follow anywhere you lead, especially if you have my cock in your hand.”
“Stay here. I’ll get the stopwatch. We don’t want to go into overtime on the pain and miss all the fucking.”
“No, Mistress, we absolutely do not.”
She heard a bit of a drawl in his words, a bit of the Old South under his clipped military tone.
“Where are you from?” She got the stopwatch off the wall and handed it to him.
“Military brat. I’m from everywhere. But Mom and Dad are from Mississippi. I went to school around Boston, but I guess I didn’t lose their accent.”
“Boston? Did you got to Harvard?”