The Switch (7 page)

A groan fell unbidden from him as the blows
came harder, drumming heavy and fast like hail on sunburned skin.
His breath was a gasping, ragged mess, and when he closed his eyes,
they were moist with what he hoped was sweat.

A couple of times, the crop brushed a
threat, or a tease; a winking tap at his scrotum. There should have
been fear - an ugly, weak word for it, but yes, fear - that
defensive physical reaction, the drawing in of balls, the shrinking
of dick. Instead, he nearly exploded with the sensation.

Back and forth that way, pushing him to the
fire, then pulling him away just before he plummeted. She rode him,
drove him, controlled his storm. And he - he was helpless. And
free.

“Grayson.”

No, he wasn’t ‘free,’ nor some goddamned
storm. He was fucking delirious.

A shiver racked his body. At some point the
spanking - lashing - god, whatever that was - had stopped.

When had she stopped?

Please tell me I did not just black the
fuck out
, he thought.

A soft, warm blanket was suddenly draped
over his back and shoulders. Fingers stroked gently through his
damp hair.

“Easy,” Marion whispered as she guided him
up from the floor. They didn’t go far; she only eased him over to a
large floor cushion at the foot of the bed.

Embarrassment and self-consciousness
threatened to creep in, but failed. He was too exhausted to give a
damn. It was a good kind of exhaustion, though. He recognized the
endorphins and chemicals in his system for what they were.

“Drink this.”

She was half-crouched over him, holding a
glass of ice water to his lips. He sipped, letting her ‘feed’ it to
him. Thankfully, she didn’t crowd him or try to hold or cuddle him.
He’d seen that happen at the club, read about it, but it was the
last thing he wanted to think about going through himself.

Marion
took a silent, deep breath and willed her hands to stay still.

She’d expected to punish him, dominate him.
She’d intended to coax some pleasure or possibly arousal out of him
with the crop. But this - he’d completely exceeded her hopes and
expectations with his reaction.

The way he fell apart for her touched
something in her very core. More than that, it sparked a heat and
desire she’d nearly forgotten. She truly wanted to dominate Grayson
- not to feed her ego, or made her feel powerful, nor because he
wanted punishment and she was fulfilling the role.

In one brief disciplinary session, Grayson
reminded her of everything that drew her to BDSM, that made her
crave it in the first place. Had it really been so long since she’d
felt this?

He finished the water and uttered a soft
thanks, his eyes still downcast, demeanor appropriately docile.
With any other sub, she would check how they were feeling, chat
with them to get a sense of their readiness. But she knew Grayson,
and he knew her. His submission was still a new and fragile state.
Any show of uncertainty or softness on her part would pull them
both out of the moment.

“Knees,” she said again. It was a bitch of a
thing to do after all that, but there was nothing else for it.

Besides, he looked so damned enticing down
there.

With that thought, an idea took form.

“You will remove my shoes, now,” she said,
walking toward the dresser. “Without your hands,” she added,
turning to watch him.

Although he neither looked up nor spoke, the
tiniest twitch registered at the corner of his mouth.

Good. She didn’t want him broken. The
Grayson she knew would not only rise to a challenge, but do his
damnedest to exceed and trump her on it every time. It was that
quality that made dominating him such a rush.

“Come,” she commanded.

Impossible not to smile at the way his body
moved as he crawled toward her. Technically, everything about his
posture was spot on. Yet his approach was far too catlike and
prowling to call ‘submissive.’

That was the crux of it, Marion realized. It
was almost too easy anymore, disciplining the submissives at
Ten
. Almost boring. This, however, was anything but. Her
pulse hammered in her throat, and that slow, delicious burn of
anticipation sizzled through her nerves.

She fought the urge to slide her fingers
through his honey-brown hair as he came to a stop at her feet.
Instead, she waited, offering nothing in her stance to assist him
in his task.

“I needn’t remind you that the stockings
will remain unscathed.”

“No, mistress,” he replied softly, lowering
his face to her left ankle.

His breath was warm and muted through the
silk, staining her skin with an invisible brand. And then -- lips.
They blessed her, a whisper of a kiss right above the thin strap of
Italian leather before closing in on the tiny clasp.

He proved surprisingly adept, managing to
undo all four tiny fasteners on each shoe in mere minutes.

“Good,” Marion said as she stepped out of
the heels. “They go there.” She motioned to the door of her walk-in
closet, and felt a twinge of pride when he went without hesitation
on his knees, the straps of her shoes held carefully between his
teeth.

As he made his way back to her, she turned
around.

“Now the skirt.” Remembering the pain in the
ass tiny hooks in the back, she added over her shoulder, “Since you
did a satisfactory job of removing my shoes and putting them away,
you may use your hands.”

She felt the heat of him like a ghost over
her skin, not touching, but only barely ‘not’. Fingers lightly
resting on the edge of her dresser, she forced her attention on the
implements there. Still, in the back of her mind, awareness and
doubt poked at her calm. So many firsts - she’d never been touched
on the thigh by Grayson, never been undressed by him. Their one
clumsy, drunken make-out session had been - well,
not
this.

And now she had him on his knees, about to
be fucked by her in ways many men would never even dream. She
nearly swayed with the strangeness, the heady power of it. What
would it be like to kiss him now, she wondered suddenly, each of
them knowing the other’s authentic selves? Her eyes fell once more
on Grayson’s client folder from the club.

The soft touch at the small of her back
almost made her jump. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused briefly as his
knuckles grazed her bare skin. In retaliation, her fingers closed
around cool silicon.

Focus, McKellan
.

Standing perfectly still, she waited for him
to unzip the skirt, letting him slide the small leather sheath down
her legs before stepping out of it.

“On the chair,” she directed, and watched in
mirror as he put the skirt in its place. Swallowing her nerves and
straightening her back, she grabbed a large cushion from the end of
the bed and placed it on the floor.

“You will kneel here, eyes down.” It would
be difficult, she knew, and that was the best part.

As she walked to the dresser, she slid the
scant lace panties over her hips, hooking them with her left foot
and catching them with a small kick.

“Tell me, Grayson,” she said. “Have you ever
sucked a cock?”

There was a pause. “I prefer women,
mistress.”

Interesting.

“That’s not an answer. Have you ever sucked
a cock?” Marion repeated slowly.

Silence. Then, “Once.” His voice was thin
and tight.

Without skipping a beat, she asked, “Ever
been fucked by a man?”

“No,” he replied immediately, low through
gritted teeth.

Marion glanced at him through the mirror.
His eyes were trained on the floor in front of him, and his jaw was
tense and ticking. She nearly laughed.

Poor baby. Still so confused and struggling
against that narrow mindset even now. All the more reason she
needed to do this.

Hitching a foot up on the little antique
stool next to the dresser, she slid her fingers along the bare
cleft between her legs. God, she was so damned wet and aching. And
this - what she was about to do - would undoubtedly just tease her,
stoke her need even more. The very thought of it sent a hard pulse
of yearning through her inner muscles.

Reaching for the dildo she’d prepared, she
asked, “Did you enjoy it - sucking cock?”

A deep inhale - teeth baring down on her
bottom lip to hold in her moan. It was a lovely thing, thick and
curved at a tight enough angle to hold in place, but not that
thick, and certainly not deep enough. Ridges pressed against her
clit, though, and once it was in, there came that decadent feeling
of something slightly wrong, a little menacing, a lot powerful.

Penis envy is totally underrated
.

He hadn’t answered. She looked up in time to
see his eyes flick from the mirror back to the floor.

Another punishment
, Marion thought
with delight. But for now…

“Do you trust me, Grayson?” she asked,
stroking her fake dick and giving a little pump. Her back was still
to him. How much had he seen in the mirror, she wondered?

“Of course,” he answered immediately,
despite the faint note of doubt in his voice.

“Was it the cock or the man you
disliked?”

“Pardon?”

She finally turned. “Rhetorical question.
You’ll enjoy it if it’s my cock you’re sucking, though, hm?”

His eyes flicked up from the floor and grew
wide, fixed on the flesh-colored dick that bobbled from between her
legs as she approached him. She neither reprimanded him nor told
him to look down. The sight of him so transfixed was more arousing
than the back-forth nudge of the end cradling her pussy. She almost
couldn’t get to him fast enough.

“Answer,” she said, inches from him now.

“Huh?”

“I won’t repeat myself again, pet.” She
allowed herself the luxury of plunging a hand into his hair this
time. With a hard tug, she forced him to look up at her.

“I - If it pleases you, mistress,” he
stammered.

“It pleases me very much. Suck it.”

For several mechanical strokes, Marion
enjoyed the rush of simply having Grayson Jones suck her ‘cock.’
But it quickly became clear that he neither appreciated nor got any
pleasure out of the gesture, so she pulled him away.

“Not like that,” she said, brushing the hair
back from his face.

“Sorry - ?” It was a half-question, as
though he wasn’t sure what to say or do.

“Grayson,” she began patiently, “how many
blowjobs have you received?”

A slight frown darkened his features. He
clearly got the implication, but she continued. “What do you think
makes for phenomenal oral sex?”

It wasn’t a fair question. Hell, it wasn’t
really a question at all, and they both knew it. It was a jab, the
words thrown back at him from a conversation they’d had so many
years ago, long before that fateful summer when he mucked up her
computer with BDSM porn and old Bettie Page videos.

“Such a braggart,” Marion said, giving the
cock a little twitch and stroke. “Or were you really just a bunch
of talk, after all?”

“I said I didn’t like men,” he muttered
petulantly.

“I’m not a fucking man, though, am I?” she
snapped. “Question is, are you? Do you even know what pleases you
the most? Or are you that pathetically hung up, that much a
coward?”

Without an answer, he looked down, which
surprised her. After a moment, he asked softly, “May I try again,
mistress?”

“No,” she answered, though she didn’t step
away. “Not until you can grasp the concept that there is no ‘gay’
or ‘straight,’ here. There’s only physical sensation - pleasure,
pain, everything in between and beyond.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what I want from you now is to suck
this like it’s your very own. I know you have an imagination, Gray
- I’ve seen it. I’m certain you can
imagine
, for a few short
moments, what it would feel like if this cock was really connected
to me, if I could feel your lips and tongue and teeth on it. Surely
you know what an amazing blowjob is like.” She stroked her fingers
gently through his hair, down the side of his face, cupping his
chin to rub a thumb over that slightly swollen mouth.

He looked up at her with an expression of
pure submission, albeit for no more than a second - soft, adoring,
full of comprehension. Then a flicker of that familiar mischief as
his eyes flicked down to her lips and below.

“Yes, mistress,” he said lowly. “I do.”

“Then show me.” She tilted her pelvis toward
him, touching the tip of the cock to the slight indent just above
his chin. In reply, his tongue slowly teased over his bottom lip to
trace the very edge.

Marion drew a silent gasp at the erotic
image, exhaling as Grayson placed a soft kiss on the end of her
‘dick.’

“May I touch you, mistress?” he murmured
against the head.

She considered this while watching him trace
his way down the underside of the shaft with his mouth. So light
was the caress, it barely nudged the dildo lodged inside of her;
she could only watch and imagine how it would feel. The frustration
was decadent, the heat of him mere centimeters from where she
pulsed and stretched around the textured silicon.

“You may,” she answered. “But only on the
legs.”

His whole body seemed to sigh as he leaned
in, eyes fluttering closed and fingers dancing along the backs of
her calves. With a firmer touch, he dragged his tongue back up the
length of her cock, circling and nibbling at the tip before slowly
drawing it into his mouth.

“Yes,” Marion hissed, heat surging her groin
as she felt that gentle tug against her pussy. “That’s it,
love.”

Grayson’s cock gave a pleasant twitch, rousing from
its semi-hard hard state in a slow, thick rush. Her soft words of
encouragement were like warm oil sliding down his spine; the feel
of her silk-clad legs beneath his fingertips acted as a spark. All
thoughts of that one unpleasant, embarrassing ‘experiment’ with
another man vanished like tissue paper in flame.