“Mmm,” he said after a few minutes. “Feels good, Abigail.”
My chest accidently brushed his shoulder. “Thank you, Master.”
After finishing his hair, I started on the rest of his body, working my way from the top down. I savored bathing him, from the way my hands slid over his chest and back as I soaped him up, to the way he closed his eyes in pleasure as I angled one of the shower nozzles over him when I rinsed him off. All the while the numerous side and overhead nozzles kept us both warm and filled the shower with steam.
I worked my way lower, and he stood to accommodate me. I skipped over his erection on purpose and soaped up his upper thighs, my fingers massaging down first one leg and then the other.
When I made it to his feet, I knelt on the shower floor, picked up his right foot, placed it on my knee, leaned down, and kissed it.
His hands made their way to my head. “Again,” he said.
I placed openmouthed kisses on top of his foot and all along the side before switching to the other foot to do the same. Finally, I placed his left foot down and looked up. He was staring at me, his eyes dark, and I felt warm, but not just from the steam surrounding us.
“You missed a spot,” he said, hips moving forward just a bit.
I ran my hands up his legs. “Oh, no, Master. I didn’t forget anything. I was saving the best for last.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Master,” I said, taking more body wash and soaping my hands up again.
I washed him gently, carefully cupping his sac in my hands and cleaning him the best I could. I lingered over his length, gripping him hard and making sure I didn’t miss an inch of him. Didn’t miss a centimeter.
His eyes had been closed, but he opened them when I removed my hands from his body.
“Finished?” he asked.
“I’m finished bathing you, Master,” I said. “But if you don’t mind, there’s something else I’d like to do.”
“Tell me.”
“Can I show you?”
“No,” he said. “I want you to use the words.”
He wanted me to use words? I’d use the words.
“I want your cock, Master,” I said, not even feeling the telltale heat of my skin that generally accompanied any sort of dirty talk on my part. “In my mouth.”
He was silent. I listened to the water beating down on us, fearing he’d tell me no. It was his prerogative after all. He could tell me no just as easily as he could tell me yes.
I steeled my spine. Promised myself I wouldn’t take it personally if he said no.
“I would like that very much,” he finally said.
My heart sped up, but I waited. He still hadn’t said yes.
“Go on, Abigail.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said, because I knew that just because I wanted him, it wasn’t a given he’d let me have him. Not on a weekend.
He tasted of soap and I licked him, swirling my tongue around his cock before sucking him in all the way. He was thick and long and hard, and as always, it took me just a minute to adjust to having him in my mouth.
His hands found purchase in my hair, and he rocked his hips slightly, but for the most part he allowed me to take my time. Slowly, I worked up a rhythm until I found my pace.
It had been my request to serve him, and he allowed me to do it my way. He kept his hands in my hair, but he didn’t move other than to slightly rock his hips in time with my mouth. The movement of my body pulled in delightful ways against the ropes, and I wondered, not for the first time, when he’d permit my release.
“Fuck,” he said, so low I barely heard him above the water pounding us both.
I took his word for the encouragement it was and moved faster. My hands slipped along his skin. It was difficult for me to hold him since his body was so wet, but I doubled my efforts and managed. My hands played with his backside, and I ran a tentative finger along the crack of his ass.
He bucked against me in obvious pleasure.
Well, well, well. That would be something interesting to explore.
“Fuck,” he said again, thrusting deeper into my mouth. I dug my fingers into the backs of his thighs and relaxed my throat moments later, as he filled me with his release.
He looked completely sated when he helped me to my feet. “Thank you,” he said.
“My pleasure, Master.”
The gleam in his eyes told me he would more than reward me for my service, and I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for me.
On Sunday, he took me into the playroom, where he restrained me with more ropes and used several different floggers. He started with the rabbit fur and worked up to leather, drawing out in me the feeling I’d started to crave. The one the other sub-missives I’d spoken to craved as well.
By the time he finished, I was quivering with need and felt certain I’d come in one never-ending wave if he so much as looked at me. I thought he’d take me in the playroom, but instead, when I was somewhat recovered and able to stand, he took my hand and led me to our bedroom.
I stepped inside behind him, noting how the room was dark thanks to the light-limiting shades. Candles flickered from the dresser and nightstands, and soft piano music filled the room.
“On your back, in the middle of the bed,” he said.
The push and pull of the ropes felt familiar now, though my excitement grew as I tried to imagine what he had planned.
After I was settled, he joined me on the bed, straddling my body. He started at my chest, unwinding the rope binding me as slowly as he had put it on. Maybe slower. When one coil of rope fell away, he did as he promised so many weeks before and trailed his finger along the marks left.
“Your skin has deep impressions,” he said. “Do you feel?”
I did. My skin was hypersensitive where it had been covered for the last day. It felt like it did when I removed a Band-Aid, leaving the newly exposed skin new and almost raw. I shivered as his finger traced the indentations I could imagine in my mind.
More of the rope fell away and his lips joined his fingers in the exploration of my skin. I closed my eyes and felt. Warm breaths over my nipples. Sweet, tender kisses to my heightened and on-edge skin. Soft, soothing caresses to my backside, still prickly from the heat of his flogger.
His hands dropped to my waist to undo the ropes there.
“Come when you wish,” he said, his voice husky and coarse.
The rope between my legs fell away, to be replaced by the warmth of his touch. I knew then what he was doing: he was making love to me as my master. One man. Two parts.
Nathaniel, my beloved. My gentle, considerate lover, who worshipped my body and captured my heart.
Master, also my beloved. My dominant, who commanded me with a look, controlled my body, and held my soul lovingly in his powerful hands.
In that moment, for that sliver of time, they combined together into one, and I opened my eyes to see him looking up at me from below my waist.
“Yes,” I said, a soft almost whisper, even to my own ears.
“Yes?” he asked, turning his head to lightly kiss the inside of my thigh.
“Yes,” I repeated. “Both. Now. Like this.”
I knew it probably didn’t make sense to him, but I couldn’t help it. Whether he understood or not, he continued what he was doing, slowly removing the ropes. All the while making me feel as if he unraveled me.
I sighed when the last rope fell away. It was as if I was newly born in my own skin. Every touch, every breath, felt new and untested. My body trembled at the sensations he created in me. I turned my head and got lost in the dance of the candles’ shadow flickering on the wall. Then I closed my eyes and let myself experience the delight of his touch as the soft music carried me away.