Fill Me - Michelle Hazen (best books to read for knowledge .TXT) 📗

a little release. I stalk around the table so I can watch. My cock feels heavy, and I adjust it, stroking a palm slowly over the bulge in my pants. A girl in the crowd sighs breathily.

The spanking is happening deep in the shadows at the back of the room, the girl bent over the back of the couch. There’s a mistress on the same couch, her sub’s head resting on her lap as they both watch me. I slow my rhythm, letting the whip fall with the same beat as the bare hand at the back of the room. Heartbeats speed with each impact and heat shimmers through the room. Sabrina twists toward an orgasm, gritting her teeth in frustration as I hold back just enough to leave her dangling on the edge.

My dick flexes, and I have to grit my teeth, counting my heartbeats to keep myself from moving until the right moment. One. Two. Now. Yes.

I slip my fingers inside Sabrina’s panties and she half-screams with the relief, soaking my fingers with her response even as I push inside her, being rough so I can enjoy her walls squeezing down on me. I fuck her with two fingers as I tease her with the very ends of the flogger, kissing her shoulders and ribs and the sensitive place below her belly button. Then I change my grip on the handle to give her what she needs.

Sabrina doesn’t like pain. She likes bondage and exhibitionism and submission and the sound of the whip whistling through the air. All of that, she told me. The reason she seeks me out in my private dungeon—even when I won’t meet her on stage—is because I know how to sneak behind what she likes, into what she craves.

I slash the whip down across the tender lower curves of her breasts. She jumps and bites her lip. The first letter of her safe word is forming on her lips as I pull out of her and cup my hand softly between her legs. Dampness kisses my palm and the lace of her panties stretches tight over my knuckles. I whip her once, hard, then again before she can recover. She cries out, and on the third strike she tenses beneath my touch and I bear down with my palm, helping her ride out her orgasm. Letting her grind against me and pull against the ropes, screaming once when it’s all too much to take silently.

In the front row, the leashed sub hits her knees, her big Dom wrestling open his zipper and feeding her his cock. Her lips part to receive him and my pulse roars.

Stalking a circle around Sabrina’s head, I yank open the buckle on her right cuff, then her left. She flexes her fingers woozily, and before she catches up with what’s happening, I push her arms to her sides. Vaulting onto the table, I land astride her to the gasps of the crowd.

I could tie her, but as deliciously relentless as ropes feel, sometimes Domination requires muscle to feed the hunger deep inside me. I clamp Sabrina between my legs, her elbows grinding into my shins, my knees punishingly tight against her biceps. She wriggles, eyes going wide as she registers the unplanned turn our little show has taken. I rear back, taking my time flicking open the button on my pants and slowly drawing down my zipper. She can say her safe word now if she wants out.

But nothing else will save her from what I’m about to do.

My cock springs free as soon as the zipper releases, the tip glistening with moisture that heats under the lights. I rub my thumb over the sensitive slit in the end, squeezing just below the head so the ladies in the crowd can watch me thicken.

The sounds of the spanking get harder. I glance over, and in the front row, a brunette head bobs between the spread thighs of her wide-shouldered Master. He tugs on the leash, demanding that she take him deeper.

I pin Sabrina between my legs and lean forward, bracing one hand on the edge of the table just beyond the loose pool of her tangled strawberry-blond hair.

I fist myself in one hand and push my dick into her mouth. Her lips stretch around me and her tongue rubs softly beneath my tip in welcome. I draw my hips back and thrust deeper. In this club, I see guys use girl’s mouths like sex toys: made for their pleasure. But I fuck Sabrina’s mouth like it’s for both of us. Deep and slow and sensual. Drawing out long enough to make her feel the emptiness before I give it to her again. Pressing into her throat just enough so she can thrill at being invaded, not enough to hurt her.

My shaft glistens when I retreat from her mouth, and I pulse thicker as I remember all the eyes watching me take her. My abs draw tight, that low, sweet burn telling me I only have seconds left.

That’s when the panic hits. It’s a slap of cold wrongness in my chest that freezes its way up my throat and into my face. My shoulders flex, vulnerable beneath the lights in a way I haven’t registered until just this second. I swallow and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s nothing I haven’t felt before. Sabrina’s not mine, and I’m not hers. There’s a distance between us that has nothing to do with how many places our bodies touch.

I focus on my cock, swollen and sensitive in her mouth. My knees, shaking with the strain of pinning her to the table, her tied legs still pulled sensually open behind me. I can stand between them and fuck her after this if I want to, hard enough to make her bound body bow with pleasure while everyone watches.

This time, when I pull back, she sweeps her tongue around the head of my cock and I burst. Through the fog in my head, I remember to grab my dick in one hand and her hair in the other, tilting her head so she doesn’t choke when I shoot into her mouth. Sabrina sucks on me, pulling another wave out when I thought I was done.

I let go of her hair and brace myself on the table. One second.

I’d give myself two if no one was watching, but one is all I have to lock my thought away, deep back in my head where no words exist.

I hop off the table, landing as if my knees aren’t blurry with pleasure. I pull the cuffs off Sabrina’s ankles and wrap an arm around her waist, hoisting her over my shoulder with a little flip. Hoots come from the crowd as I turn to display her bare ass, my arm holding her legs securely in a fireman’s carry. They cut the lights, but not before I see the guy in the front row, his head thrown back and throat tight as his girl carries him through the rough edges at the end of his climax.

Once we’re offstage, I bring Sabrina back to my room, where she can get dressed. She’s even more talkative than usual, hugging me twice before she leaves, and I lock the door behind her before I scrub a hand over my face.

I never know when it’s going to flatten me, that crazy premonition. Or hallucination, whatever it is. These girls are all beautiful, each one in her own way, and they need me. I want them, thirst for the things we do together, but the acts I crave aren’t....her.

Every time I figure out exactly what a girl needs to feel complete, there’s a tiny, firm click. It’s easiest here—these are my people. That was pretty fucking obvious the first time I came in the doors and saw a girl tied to a cross in the same way as a magazine picture I had kept since I was sixteen, stuffed deep under my mattress where my mom couldn’t accidentally find it. But no one has ever made everything click for me. Not that I’m not satisfied. I am, I guess.

I push a hand through my hair and eye the door, but I don’t go out. Instead, I check the clock. It’s been an hour and twenty since I left Jera and Jax. Probably she went home with her boyfriend, but I oughta swing by Jax’s just in case either of them are having a post-show drink.

I shuck my leather pants and grab my jeans off a chair, but for a long moment, I don’t put them on, my eyes going unfocused as I stare at the floor.

At nothing.