his lower lip quite fetchingly, struggling to maintain his posture.
Belle stood before him, taking a long minute to lick her fingers—which were greasy with turkey and sugary with fruit—and her lips, red with wine. Her order not to move, which by now had caused intense pain to the muscles of Andrew’s arms and thighs and ass, had not diminished his erection. Belle could relate.
She licked her fruit-sweet fingers as she spoke. “Andrew, I think you asked me something,” she said innocently.
Andrew spoke with great effort, his brow moist with the tension in his muscles.
“I asked if I could remove your boots, Mistress,” he said, his voice conveying a great humility. “It was impolite for me to ask. I apologize.”
Belle reached out and ran her slick fingers across Andrew’s throat, teasing him. She leaned close.
“They’re the most beautiful boots I’ve ever seen,” he blurted.
He looked up at her, his eyes succulent with adoration of her for the ordeal she’d just put him through, and particularly for the obvious pleasure she’d taken in it. Belle looked down into those gorgeous eyes and laughed.
“My boots are filthy from the ride. I wouldn’t wish you to remove them until you’ve cleaned them—very well.”
Belle turned and stalked the few feet to a large armchair, feeling the soft silk embrace her bare body as she sat down. She stretched her legs out and presented her high-heeled, pointy-toed black leather boots, which were soaked through and muddy.
Andrew crawled to her and lowered his face to her filthy boots. Belle caught him before his mouth met the muddy leather. Her hand went into his long blond hair and she pulled.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “Is that fair, Andrew?”
“No, Madame,” he said. She released his hair. He went to get up as he reached for the fastening of his breeches; again, Belle shook her head.
With some difficulty, Andrew undressed on his knees, kicking off his own footwear first and then removing his breeches to reveal his ample erection, which was even larger than Belle had first thought. When Andrew’s tight top finally made it over his head, he discovered that Madame Belle’s knees were now folded neatly over the great pillowed arms of the chair, her thighs spread wide and her sex blatantly revealed, the smooth flesh pink with want and the center of her glistening and aromatic. Struggling to contain his hunger, Andrew bent sideways toward one of Madame Belle’s muddy boots.
“Please,” she said, slipping her hand into his hair again. “Please don’t play dumb. You know what you were asking—oh!” She guided his mouth to her sex and pulled his hair firmly as, obediently, Andrew began to lick.
He serviced Belle’s sex ably, licking from the sweet center of her opening up to the swollen bud of her clitoris, which drew great sighing moans from her, and later great shuddering gasps, as his tongue skillfully caressed it. His lips closed gently around her clitoris and he worked it eagerly with his tongue as her pleasure mounted.
“I wonder if you think you’re going to get that thing inside me?” she panted as she neared her orgasm. “I’ve never had a boy to play with before. I’ve always been on the bottom, Andrew. Do you think I’m still dying to get fucked, boy? Andrew, I asked you a question.”
She had timed it right, so that his mouth’s withdrawal from her sex to answer bought her several more seconds of pleasure. She did not want to climax too quickly; to do so would be to all but waste the subtle caresses of a very submissive man. Belle had never enjoyed such things before, and planned to savor them as long as she could.
“I believe Madame will do what she wishes,” said Andrew obediently. His mouth returned to its ministrations on her clitoris, and Belle pushed him back.
“Of course,” said Belle. “But do you think I want to get fucked? Andrew! I asked you a fucking question.”
Andrew drew back, his mouth dripping with Belle’s juices.
“Yes, Madame. I believe you do want to get fucked.”
“Mmmmmm.” Belle sighed. She laughed. “Just like a man…He thinks his cock rules the universe. Get me off, boy.” She was very close at that moment, and almost no malfeasance on Andrew’s part could have prevented an intense orgasm by Belle, but it gave her pleasure to order him to finish her. So often, as a bottom, she had been denied orgasm at the last minute. It invigorated her, now, to take as she wished.
Andrew obediently returned his mouth to her sex, and Belle relaxed into the strokes of his tongue as he serviced her clit. She pushed off her climax as long as she could, savoring the pleasure, but finally Andrew’s skills were more than she could resist. She came fiercely. One hand clawed her own thighs until she left great pink furrows; the other went snaking into Andrew’s hair and gripped him, forcing his head roughly against her sex as her pleasure mounted and her hips started to move. Andrew continued his service as the Madame, essentially, used him. Belle had never fucked a man’s face like that before. She came harder than she ever had.
As she relaxed into the succulent, warm afterglow of her orgasm, Belle was surprised to discover that Andrew continued servicing her, his tongue working even as the pleasure in her clitoris turned to a sudden ache. The pleasure mounted to discomfort momentarily and then, as Andrew slowed his strokes and gave her a minute to recover, it merged back into pleasure, and Belle felt a new sensation growing.
For all her unexpected lust for domination, Belle was still naive in many things.
“Why aren’t you stopping?” she panted.
Andrew only drew his tongue away from her for a moment.
“You did not instruct me to,” he said, and returned to licking her clit.
Belle went slack into the deep armchair, her eyes glassy with unexpected pleasure. Once, Belle had been bound over a Master’s lap as he used a vibrator on her until she succumbed to the onrushing pleasure-pain of a second and a third orgasm. But usually, when she was fucked, she was allowed one—if she was lucky enough to be allowed that at all. This was wholly different, the pleasure mounting as stimulation continued; she felt a momentary flash of guilt, feeling she should instruct Andrew to stop. She was very close to her second orgasm, unexpectedly shuddering all over with increasing pleasure, when, quite to her own surprise, she blurted: “You don’t have to.”
Andrew looked up at Belle in confusion, the expression on his face going from rapt excitement and pleasured acceptance to something akin to panic. It was the first time Belle had ever seen the ecstasy of total submission on the face of another person. It gave her, simultaneously, a thundering sensation of happiness and the sharp taste of guilt for her own doubts.
“Madame?”
“You don’t have to stop when I come,” she said quickly, making her voice as sarcastic as possible. “You men always want to finish after you get us off a couple of times. I’m going to come till I’m finished, do you understand?”
“Of course,” said Andrew breathlessly. “I would never stop until ordered to, Madame.” His eyes went hot as he looked up at her. “If I did, you’d be well within your rights to punish me.”
Belle’s breath was coming short; she felt the buzzing high of power. Andrew was depending on her; as much as she desired to be bent and stretched and spread on her Master’s lap and bed and rack, Andrew wished to be here on his knees, servicing her until he was ordered to stop.
She brought her leg down and tucked it between Andrew’s legs, pushing hard on his erect cock with her muddy spike heel.
“I’ll already be punishing you,” she growled. “For enjoying yourself too much. Now, get me off again, boy, I’m far from finished with you.” To hear her own voice uttering such aggressive statements was unfamiliar and deeply erotic to Belle, and she realized perhaps for the first time that she was no longer a sexual servant, as she had been for some years, but something