“Stop,” Jon spoke, his voice satisfyingly throaty, nearly a growl.
Rachel pulled back reluctantly, Dana following as far as she could before the kiss broke and the woman had to catch herself so she didn’t topple forward. Rachel was ready to steady her if needed. Rules were rules, but she knew protecting one another was always top priority. But Dana’s stomach muscles contracted and she avoided the mishap, sinking back to her heels again.
“Come to me, Rachel.” Jon again.
She moved across the table on hands and knees, body swaying with lust-fueled movements. When she reached the edge of the table closest to him, she sat back on her heels, her eyes lowered, back straight, hands clasped at the small of her back, her resting pose when he didn’t specify otherwise. The plug in her ass did that adjustment thing that made her very aware of it, and her bound clit. She could see the blue shirt tucked into his belted jeans, and the mouthwatering erection pressing against the denim.
Jon clasped her waist and slid her forward, guiding her to a seated position on the cool glass, the edge of the mat against the curve of her buttocks as her legs dangled off the edge. As he held her there, a firm hand at her waist, he reached between her legs. When his thumb pressed against the metal piece, she shuddered.
“Look at me.”
When she did, the blaze of heat in his intense blue eyes, the set of his mouth, almost wrested another moan from her. As he held her gaze, that moan did escape, because he slid two fingers inside her cunt, and his thumb rubbed against the metal, warming and manipulating it.
“Come,” he said. “And be loud about it.”
Two things she couldn’t have controlled, even if she’d wanted to do so. Her hips lifted to his touch, pulling him in deeper, and a scream tore from her throat as the climax hit her like a hard wave. It shoved her against a solid wall and held her as it pummeled her with relentless contractions against his fingers. Her clit throbbed inside the torturous hold of Lucas’s gift, intensifying the situation, so it wasn’t one scream but a whole symphony of them that echoed through the room.
As the wave crested, she bowed back, arching over Jon’s arm. Even as the climax passed, fast, impossibly intense, the aftershocks remained, making her jerk and quiver, little whimpers coming from her. It was on that slow, sweet downward spiral that her glazed eyes focused on Dana.
Peter had brought her to his side of the table, though she was on all fours again, head up once more. He’d also ensured the padded stool had moved with her, for it was positioned under her for support. Her ribs were lifting and falling, her hips making little jerks as if she couldn’t stop herself from emulating the coital rhythm.
“I told you to stay still.” Peter rose from his seat. He spun a paddle in his hand and, as Rachel watched, he brought it up in a sweep to hit Dana at the fullest part of her buttocks. Another moan escaped Rachel in response.
“Lift that disobedient ass, Sergeant,” Peter barked.
Dana complied with a whimper as Peter landed the next blow, hard enough to rock her forward on her hands. It sent another intense aftershock through Rachel, almost like a second climax. It took a few more seconds to level out, especially as Peter continued to paddle Dana’s backside, her buttocks wobbling in reaction, thighs flexing, hands curling into the mat, more cries wrenching from her.
Rachel’s pussy continued to pulse like her rapid heart. Jon scooped her up and put her on her feet. He turned her to face the table, pushing her down with a hand to the back of her neck. He was…oh Goddess, he was…
It took less than a second for Jon to open his jeans. He thrust into her with just the right amount of force, her still slippery and contracting tissues pulling him in eagerly. The force of his thrust home pushed her forward almost as aggressively as Peter’s paddle had Dana. As her nipples rubbed against the mat, her upper body pressed down on the chain so her forward movement created a sharp tug on the constricted points. A cry tore from her own throat.
“Hear that?” Peter told Dana. “Good girls get fucked. Bad girls get paddled.”
Dana made a pleading noise and Rachel couldn’t stop herself from uttering another moan that would undoubtedly add to the other woman’s torment. Jon wrapped his hand in her blond, thick hair and used it to anchor himself, working himself in her.
Her gaze darted around the room. He was taking her in front of the others. If she were in their position, she would have wanted to look, but in an indirect way, avoiding eye contact.
That wasn’t the case with them, and it made her arousal, the confusing tangle of emotions in her, even more impossible to control. Every man she looked at had his gaze locked on her face, their expressions studied and appraising, watching the contortions of her mouth, the wideness of her eyes, the way she was making pleading noises. The sway of her breasts and clutch of her hands on the mat as Jon pushed her forward with the strength of his taking.
He came within a minute or two, not unsurprising because of how impressively thick and hard he was, but it also emphasized he was using her to relieve his lust. His sub. His property. She didn’t care what the world thought of such thoughts. In this moment, it was true, and there was nothing more she wanted to be, because as his, she was her truest, fullest, best version of herself.
The jet of release bathed her channel and cervix, her hips lifting and body shuddering, taking him deep, taking all of him. Her eyes somehow found a focus on Matt’s hand. Strong-looking and large, the long fingers had a light covering of dark hair over the top. He was at the head of the table and had his body slightly rocked back, as if he had his chair pushed back on its axis. But his arms were long enough that hand still rested on the table surface, the fingers somewhat curved. It was his left hand, so it bore his wedding ring.
She’d once seen Savannah kiss that, after a dinner she and Jon had hosted at their place. Savannah had been curled up next to Matt on their couch. Matt had lifted her hand, kissed her knuckles. She’d nuzzled his shoulder, then lifted his hand and did the same to his wedding band. What seemed to initially amuse him had changed into something else as his wife and submissive lifted her gaze to him, her mouth on the ring.
Jon’s left hand had curled over Rachel’s shoulder, giving him a more substantial anchor to thrust into her during the height of her climax. Now she dropped her cheek to it, feeling the coolness of his own wedding ring beneath her flesh.
Goddess… She had a feeling that word was going to come to her mind a lot tonight. An appeal for strength, or to give fervent thanks. She’d already invoked it for both.