Bodhi Page 11

  “Mine,” he hissed.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He slapped her face again and commanded, “Don’t speak.”

  Her breathing matched that of the creatures he wouldn’t allow her to look upon. The shaking hadn’t subsided, but the slaps reminded her she didn’t need to be afraid. Gavin was in charge. She only had to obey.

  He painted her lips red with a tube he pulled from his pocket. He went outside the lines, coloring around her mouth, pressing the lipstick to her skin until the slanted edge of it became blunt, then he grabbed the hair dangling from the pony holder and forced her to her knees on the floor.

  “They’re for you,” he whispered, voice brimming with intention and power and heat. “I want to watch you. They won’t come until I say. And neither will you. They can’t touch you. They can’t kiss you. You will suck them, and I will beat you, and then we will all come … if you please me, baby girl.” He pulled on her hair until her eyes blurred. “You will please me, won’t you? Or do you want to use your word? Make it all go away?”

  Gavin’s pants strained. She could smell the arousal of both him and the other men she kneeled before. Sagging a little in his hold, she moaned and shook her head.

  “You know that’s not enough.” He flicked his eyes to the bed. “Speak now. Tell them.”

  “I will please my Master. I will suck you … all of you. I’ll do whatever Master tells me to do.”

  The creatures’ breathing patterns changed. They must’ve also been instructed not to speak. Their dicks looked painfully hard. Their faces looked equally wrinkled with aching expectation. She didn’t want to know how long he’d kept them on the edge or why they obeyed. If she knew, she’d have to think and be logical, and she came here, she submitted to Gavin, so she wouldn’t have to do any of that.

  All she had to do was obey.

  Gavin never released his hold. With her hair tight in his fist, he positioned her over each man in turn, forcing the rhythm, while he struck her with a wooden paddle. Paddles were his favorite tool. She wasn’t allowed to bite down in the slightest on their cocks to transfer the pain. He disavowed the use of her hands. Sometimes, he also held their dicks, pumped them into her mouth, thrusting them so far into her throat she made gagging sounds. And he beat her, called her names, told her how beautiful she looked, how much she pleased him. Then after she’d sucked the three creatures for what felt like forever — because her jaw ached but she still wanted more, more, more — he ordered her to the floor, flat on her back, and told her to remove her tank top.

  She didn’t think she’d ever seen his eyes so wide, his pupils so dark, his chest heave so deeply. He looked like he would explode with lust. Kneeling with a knee on each side of her, his jeans pulled down so that his own cock sprung free, he wrote on her chest with the lipstick. She didn’t need a mirror to know what he drew. She could feel each letter take shape. They were large, unmistakable. He started with an S just above her breasts and below her chin, followed by an L directly beneath it, then a U, and finally a T.

  “Open,” he said, slapping her mouth with his cock. He hit her cheeks with it first, then told her to lick and suck only the tip.

  “You own this word.” Slapping her face again with his dick, his eyes boring into hers, he then made her lick and suck. “You own their pleasure, and I own you. Do you want to come?”

  She imagined this was what it was to be in a coma. She could only moan. She could hear and breathe, but she could only moan. It was like a dream. And it was … a dream come true.

  Standing with his cock in his hand, he pumped himself as he removed the blindfolds from the creatures and nodded in Audrey’s direction, indicating they imitate him.

  All four men stood above her, looking down while jerking their lipstick-stained cocks toward her coma-induced body. She wanted the floor to swallow her up … or she wanted to drown in her lust, her need for this — the addiction her owner had created or awoken. Heat had pooled so deep inside her belly, her thighs and lower back, it cut through her skin and organs like the tip of a sharp blade.

  Imagining the taste of the cum of the four men mixing on her tongue, the smell of them, she ached violently as she gazed up at them through hooded eyes, through a tunnel — she seemed to be on the other side of it. Audrey at one end, the four hard men at the other.

  She was a slut.

  Fuck, it was the only label she wanted, needed, and owned.

  “So pretty,” Gavin murmured.

  He stood directly over her, a foot on each side of her waist. The other men stood at her sides. She made eye contact only with him. He watched her lids flutter, her breasts heave, and the bright red vertical letters all with what she felt was aroused adoration.

  She had pleased him.

  “So, so pretty,” he whispered. He looked like he might cry — a tower of strength mixed with a vulnerability he couldn’t contain.

  And again, it was only the two of them, Audrey and Gavin, surrounded by lust and fascination, cravings most people would never understand.

  “Come for me. Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue. Put your hand inside your panties.” He paused, watching her palm slip past the letters and her fingers disappear.

  “Together,” he groaned. “Everyone.” He glanced at the mystical, ethereal creatures. “We’ll come together.” He looked again at her, his voice aching with concern and determination. “It will rain on you.”

  The noises she made increased. The stroking she gave her clit and pussy lips intensified.

  “No, no, no. Eyes open,” he said, ripping her from deep space, from the carnal coma while pumping himself, fucking his fist. “Eyes on me. Good girl.”

  The three creatures released first, then he dropped to his knees, rubbed the tip of himself over the remaining red of her lips, and spilled over what they’d done. He smeared all the semen together over the whole of her chest, into the red letters, her breasts, under her chin and collar, and over her swollen lips.

  Gavin and Audrey’s gazes remained steadfast and locked onto each other as she began to convulse with her own monumental release. Squeezing her thighs together, she sobbed openly, unable to contain the shaking or emotions.

  It was an adrenaline crash of epic proportions.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, wiping the sweat from her forehead. He continued to praise her over and over, quietly, his heart sounding as if it resided in his voice box. “Stay here, baby girl.”

  The moment he stood, her eyes closed from sheer exhaustion, yet her pussy still throbbed with its own heartbeat. Her head lolled to the side as she ascertained sounds: her Master’s commands, jeans zipping, shirts being buttoned. Her senses seemed heightened. And then a door opened and closed, indicating three satisfied men had left the room.

  Gavin returned with a basin of warm water and a washcloth, cleaned her off, massaged and oiled her butt cheeks, but said nothing. And she only lay there, eyes closed, thoughts far gone from anything resembling what she knew of this universe.

  He brought her bottled water. Made her drink. Then he carried her to his private room where he took hold of her wrists, handcuffed them in front of her waist, clasped a chain to them, and led her to his bed.

  “You have free rein of the studio. I’ll feed you. Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Audrey...” He tapped her cheek. “Why aren’t you speaking now?”

  Because she would cry again. Sob like a little girl. She shrugged, feeling her damn eyes water despite her efforts.

  “What you just did, what we did — was beautiful.” He slid his knuckle across her cheek. “Consensual.”

  “I know,” she whispered, dropping her chin, biting her lip, squelching the tears.

  “This is play, baby girl. A way to satisfy our needs. Do you trust me?”

  She met his eyes with an awareness that seemed to make him take an internal step backward.

  “Yes,” she answered without any room for doubt or complacency. “I liked i
t,” she continued, eyes still focused on his, searching deep into them and floating away in the pools of his blues as she suddenly remembered a lesson. A recent one. A single word he’d taught her that would forever change the directory of the way she navigated relationships.

  “Compersion. Do you know what it means, Audrey?” he’d asked one night as they lay in his bed together.

  “I've never heard it.”

  “Have you ever felt jealousy while watching me interact with people here?”

  “No.” She blushed. “But I haven’t watched you … be intimate with anyone.”

  “You’ve watched me teach, seen me paddle and flog and cane others. That’s still a form of intimacy.”

  “I didn’t feel jealous. What does it mean? The word.”

  “Did your husband exhibit jealousy?”

  “Gavin…”

  He ran his finger under her collar as she leaned into his touch.

  “Ex,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  What? Do you want my permission to explore this … this whatever shit? she recalled Dell asking many moons ago.

  Kink, honey.

  An open marriage? You want to watch me have sex with other women? I can’t watch you…

  “You've felt it too,” Gavin said, interrupting her daydream as he guided her eyes back to his. “A stab of pain so sharp it nearly rends you in two. Yes?”

  She nodded, dropped her gaze.

  “Jealousy is a fear of losing something that was never ours to begin with.”

  She noticed he waited for her to absorb his forthright words.

  “I'm. Not. Afraid. Of. Losing. You.”

  Audrey stared into the starry-night sky of his eyes. Grabbing him at the nape of his neck, she pulled his face closer and kissed him.

  “Do you have any idea the pleasure it brings me to fulfill your fantasies and desires? To watch other people touch you. To watch you touch them. It brings me joy witnessing your joy. I feel love watching you love. Some people feel jealousy and compersion at the same time. It’s beautiful, Audrey.”

  “Gavin,” she said, the ache she felt in her back and loins somehow present in her voice.

  “Have you imagined me with Peyton?”

  Audrey’s eyes closed in slow motion, and as they reopened, she was positive they were filled with not only lust, but a deep-seated desire to see him experiencing satisfaction through his encounters with another man. No one person could be anybody’s everything. Years of marriage had taught her that lesson.

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Audrey, that’s compersion.”

  Gavin brought her back to the here and now — the two of them in his private room, her hands cuffed, a leash attached to them — by kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

  “You’re my good girl,” he said, his voice like that of a hypnotist ending a session. “You’ll remain chained to my bed until it’s time for you to go. I’ll see to your needs. Do you want anything right now?”

  She nodded, leaned forward, rested her forehead against his, and shared his breath.

  “Oh, baby girl,” he said, sighing with such tenderness, stroking her cheeks, and then they kissed. “What will we do with you? Such innocence and such needs. You’ll learn to let go of this shame.” He kissed her again, speaking against her mouth, whispering, “I own you. I own your mouth. Your lips. Your body. Your fucking soul.”

  The kiss grew deeper, more passionate, and as he gave her his tongue — his softer side, or maybe that was his only side, his feelings in the form of nonstop delicious kisses — her body bloomed with newfound emotions.

  Her petals opened.

  She stood in the sun.

  Blooming with love.

  And compersion.

  20

  It was the first time she’d been in the club without access to her phone. The dungeon rules forbade the use of phones/cameras/video in certain areas. She’d always kept it anyway, securing her phone under a bra strap or at the waist of her underwear. Gavin had taken it tonight, though, before he left the room, promising to guard it with his life.

  “It won’t leave my person,” he’d said. “I will check it. I’ll respond to your father as though it’s you. Let this go, Audrey. You’re with me. I take care of your needs.”

  But she couldn’t let it go.

  She’d been lying in his bed for what felt like hours, but without a clock or television or computer, without a window, she had no concept of time.

  Alone with her thoughts and watching blobs of paint take shape on the ceiling, she could only think of the mistakes she’d made, her regrets — all the ways she could’ve been a better mom. How she could’ve been a better wife. A more well-rounded woman.

  Was this what Gavin had meant by meditation? Audrey called it torture. And not the good kind.

  The silence ate her alive … until it didn’t — until she wouldn’t allow it. She rubbed herself almost to the point of sleep. Gavin didn’t often disavow her need for self-pleasure or put stipulations on it. In fact, he encouraged it.

  Even without a window, she assumed it was late. Gavin hadn’t yet returned. And although she knew he hadn’t played with others without her present — other than Peyton — she still wondered if he lied or needed more than just her submission to him and his to Peyton.

  The things he hid in his eyes haunted her dreams:

  His son Michael.

  His former submissive who’d taken her life.

  An ex-wife.

  Years and years of fetishes and kink.

  Peyton…

  Gavin had never detailed his relationship with Kate’s Dominant. Audrey had never asked. But she had imagined. And she wanted to know more … and then at the same time, she didn’t. What if she did feel jealousy? What if it changed things?

  Audrey must’ve finally fallen asleep.

  She sucked in a breath the moment she opened her eyes. Gavin lay next to her on his side, facing her, and he was awake, staring at her. His shoulders looked even wider at this angle, his chest hair darker, his stubble filled with more shadow. Everything about him seemed heightened — especially his gaze. His blue eyes burned into her brown ones, starting a fire.

  She blinked, trying to focus.

  “Good morning,” he said, then kissed her nose.

  “Mmm, it’s morning?” She stretched her cuffed hands above her head as she yawned, and he followed the line of chain and smiled. “I’m hungry.”

  “Go start the shower. Wait for me under the stream.” He stripped the sheet off her body, then smacked her ass after she stood.

  Letting out a little yelp, she gave him a smile as she sauntered to the bathroom, chain dragging on the floor behind her, rattling.

  She waited … and waited … and then the water turned cold. Despite her teeth chattering and body shivering, she remained under it, adjusting to the temperature.

  Cold was only a state of mind.

  He finally entered the shower with a cluster of grapes in hand and a smirk in his eyes. Pressing his chest to her back, he fed her until they were gone, then he tossed the stem aside, grabbed her hips, and told her to bend. He fucked her without speaking, only grunting.

  The way his nails dug into her skin, the way he would pull out and shove back inside, each thrust more powerful than the last, told her he didn’t care if she came, didn’t care if she was cold. And she knew all of it made him harder, made him more determined, more dangerous.

  And all of it meant she pleased him beyond words.

  On one elongated groan, he pulled out and came all over her back. After massaging the warmth of his seed into her skin, he whispered all the words he’d refused to utter moments before as he began to expertly finger her pink hole, caress her seam, and stroke her clit, his chest heaving against her back, his lips nibbling her ear.

  “Beautiful, beautiful,” he cried. “Come for me. Sing for me.”

  Her songs of pleasure echoed across the shower. The cold became insignifican
t. All that mattered were his words horseback riding through her head. His mastery of her.

  Sagging in his arms, her knees buckled as she milked his fingers and pulsated over the whole of his hand.

  He pulled her upright and soaped the loofa, then began to wipe every inch of her body, scrubbing at the faint letters still visible on her chest.

  After the crisp, cold shower, he uncuffed her and brought her to the counter, propped her up on it, and covered her body in a large, white towel. As he fed her more grapes and towel dried her hair, she remained unusually quiet. The events of the prior night and meditation that followed had rendered her mute. The silence spoke volumes, saying more than she ever could with sounds and letters and inflections.

  “Your father texted once,” he said, running fingers through her damp, wavy hair.

  “What?” she started, joining the moment. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes…” he began, tugging at the towel, “‘Bean.’ It was only a check-in.”

  Audrey glanced away, fighting a smile. The familiarity didn’t make her uncomfortable. It strangely made her tingle — in all the places.

  “Look at me, Bean.” He pulled her chin to face him.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said with a wide grin.

  “Why? I’m a father to you now.”

  “You’re not even ten years older than me. That’s just…”

  “I care for your needs.” He slid a grape into her mouth. A whole bowl of the juicy little globes sat on the counter. “Dress.”

  As her feet hit the floor, she turned, and the towel fell. She caught him staring at her chest in the mirror. No matter how much he’d scrubbed at the letters, they were still a little visible. Tracing the outline with her fingers, she remembered the extent of time she’d spent in front of the same mirror last night, staring at her body, her folds, her cunt, her chest, the letters — her eyes. Meditating. She’d always hated the chestnut brown she’d inherited from her mother. But last night, she’d fallen in love with the color.