The Deep End--The Honey Series by Kristen Ashley
His head dropped back automatically but Olly forced it forward and his eyes locked to her heart-shaped ass up in the air. Seeing that, the pressure of her hot, wet pull, he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting.
She drew him out and gripped his balls in a hold that had pain shooting through his ass and cock. His head dropping back again, he felt a muscle jump in his cheek with his effort to hold back the grunt.
“Be good, Oliver.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he gritted.
She released him and then his Mistress went down on him and Christ, Christ, watching her gorgeous ass rock, her hair glide across the smooth, pale skin of her back, her mouth working his dick, Olly was clenching his plug up his ass and every other muscle he had, twisting his hands to grasp the bindings in order not to take over.
And then he’d had enough.
“Baby,” he groaned.
As was her way (fucking brilliantly), she kept at him.
God. Fuck. Fuck.
“Baby,” he growled.
She released him and worked her way with her mouth up his stomach to his nipples and Olly panted, trying to pull his shit together as she did. His cock was pulsing, ready to blow, so if she wasn’t ready for him to come (and she wasn’t), he was grateful for the relief.
She lifted a hand to his neck and extended her thumb to stroke his jaw before she moved away, sending a lazy glance over him as she did, giving him a view of her ass again as she crawled to the nightstand.
She came back with a chain.
And he felt his grip tighten on his bindings when he saw at its ends were nipple clamps.
He knew what they were. He’d seen them in the stores. On subs at the Bolt and the Honey.
He’d just never had them used on him.
He didn’t share this.
His eyes went to her and she took in his look, he knew she liked it, the struggle he was waging against the fear of the unknown, how those would feel, if they’d hurt too much, or if they’d give him more.
But it didn’t stop her from going in, pinching his nipples, twisting them, pulling them, as Olly let go at the sensations this was causing, free in this space that was all hers, alone with his Amélie, allowing the noises to roll up his throat. Noises that felt like they started in his nipples, his cock, his plugged ass, tearing through his body and rumbling from his lips.
When she had them as she wanted them, blowing on them, just that against their sensitivity set his hips thrusting, she put the clamps to and twisted them closed so he felt them.
Fuck yeah.
He felt them.
There was weight with a definite tightness and hint of pain and it felt fucking great.
Then she yanked the long chain that hung between them and he felt them as it dragged his nipples down and she added a pull to the tightness that increased the brilliant pain, and the spectacular sensitivity, when she hooked the chain tight around his ball sac.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, his attention scattered, the focus broken, nipples, balls, ass, cock, all of it not good, all if it fucking great. “Fuck,” he grunted again.
“Now it’s time for your gift, my steed,” she whispered, moving behind him.
Twisting gently, he felt the tug and the release of losing his plug, a feeling that was sweet.
But he’d learned being full felt a fuckuva lot better.
He turned his head to look at her, that movement yanking on the chain, drawing it up his balls and pulling at his nipples.
Christ, fucking brilliant.
Fuck, but she knew how to work him.
“Amélie.”
He said no more but how he said it gave her what she needed. He knew it when her face warmed with satisfaction at the same time it filled with more craving.
She moved off the bed and he twisted again, gritting his teeth against the pull of his chain, as he watched her move across the room behind him.
She did something at a dresser that he couldn’t see before she turned.
He felt his body lock solid as she came back to him, and in her hands she held a plug of substantial size and from it trailed a tail that looked like it matched the hair on his chest, legs and around his cock fucking perfectly. The tail was long, at least three feet, and if he was in another state, he might find it handsome.
Or alarming.
He was not in that state.
And he was not in the state to deny her tailing him.
He was in the state that he wanted to perform for his Mistress, do it with intent and do it fucking now.
“I had it specially made, my steed,” she told him, approaching the bed. “It has many functions and I’m hoping all of them are pleasing.”
“Baby,” he growled.
She looked into his eyes and what she saw made her lick her bottom lip.
He jerked at his arm bindings.
“Baby.”
She got to the side of the bed. “Are you ready to be tailed, beast?”
“Yeah,” he grunted.
“Are you ready to perform for me?”
He was ready driving up to her house.
“Fuck yeah, Amélie.”
“Oh, you please me,” she whispered, entered the bed on a knee and gave him what he needed.
She needed.
She settled at his side, slightly behind him, and slid the lubed end of the plug through his crack until she found his hole and he watched her face, his neck twisted, his chain pulling.
She turned her gaze to his.
“Tail me,” he growled.
She drove that plug home.
At the swift, unbelievably outstanding feeling of fullness, a grunt tore from his chest, exploding in the room, and he heard her soft noise of pleasure but he got no more from her. Or he did, he just was so gone, he couldn’t focus on it.
This was because Amélie turned it on and she didn’t take him there easy. That thing vibrated up his ass, thumping right where he needed it, doing it violently.
And Olly performed.
He had no choice but to perform but that didn’t matter.
He’d do it for hours. Days. Years.
It was just that … fucking … phenomenal.
He drove his hips through the air, his body arcing, giving all his weight to the bindings at his wrists so he could thrust up, fucking nothing, feeling everything, including Amélie sliding a hand soft and sweet down the back of his thigh, up the inside, over his clenching ass, through his long tail.
He could take no more.
He turned his head, his chain pulling, his hips still pumping, and thought he caught her eyes but he couldn’t tell.
He was gone, hers, all hers, everything she gave him was everything he was free to be, everything he could be.
Everything he just fucking was.
For her.
Focused on nothing but the sensations she’d created coursing hot through his body, his cock an aching pulse, his balls drawn up feeling so full they’d burst their restraints, his nipples shooting equal measures of pain and pleasure up to radiate over his scalp and down to grip his cock, balls, and hole, his ass clenched around his tail.
Not to mention he was too busy begging, “Mistress, please.”
“Come, Olivier.”
He instantly arched and did it insanely.
And goddamned fucking proudly.
Driving his cock into the air, he shot, his plug thumping up his ass, his dick exploding, the position of his body yanking violently at the clamps at his nipples at the same time it pulled up his balls at the scrotum.
It wasn’t phenomenal.
It was goddamned motherfucking sensational.
And he couldn’t stop his groans of, “Yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah,” as his cum arced through the air and hit a towel.
He thought his orgasm wouldn’t stop, didn’t want it to stop, wanted to have that as long as he could have it, wanted to give it to Amélie, and as ever, she knew what he wanted.
So she didn’t allow it to stop when she c
Her touch rocketed every-fucking-where and his back arched even deeper.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he grunted, cum still streaming. “Yes, baby,” he pushed out.
When finally he was spent, she released him, took the vibrations of his plug down low, and Olly sagged immediately, hanging from his bindings.
He heard rather than saw the towels being swept away and felt his arms being released. One then swiftly after, the other.
Unable to stop himself, he dropped forward, face in the bed, ass in the air.
He felt Amélie settle at his side, her hand light and soothing on the skin of his hip, curving over his ass, her voice gentle even as she said, “Get used to this particular positon, Olivier. You’ll be in it a lot.”
“Great,” he muttered.
He heard her soft, contented laugh and his hips bucked when she threaded her fingers through his tail.
Fucking hell, she did it for him.
Christ.
She was perfect.
And Olly knew in that moment that he’d do anything for her.
For as long as he had her.
Which he hoped like fuck was a very long time.
“It suits you wonderfully, mon amour,” she purred admiringly.
“Glad you like it,” he told the bed.
Her hand left his tail and came to his hair where she gripped it and he lifted his head because he had no choice.
Olly was looking at her.
She was looking at her hand in his hair.
“You haven’t cut it since we met,” she said reflectively.
He had other things to do, like work, sort through the stuff fucking with his head, and getting his shit jacked by a beautiful redhead who he was falling in love with.
“No,” he agreed.
Her gaze came to him as her grip tightened. “I like it like this.”
Then she’d have it like that. He was not a man-bun, lumbersexual type of guy but if she wanted to take a grip on his hair, he’d give it to her.
Fuck, tailed ass in the air, it was pretty much a given he’d give her anything.
Suddenly, she let him go but just as sudden, she gripped him by the hair again. This after she shifted up from his side toward the pillows, throwing a leg over his body, and then she slid down.
With her hand forcing it there, Olly had his face buried in her pretty pussy before his mind caught up to what she was doing.
Then he had his tail up his ass vibrating deeper.
“Baby,” he whispered against her cunt, not even going soft, his dick started getting hard again, but needing her permission, wanting nothing more than to bury his tongue deep.
“Eat,” she ordered.
He ate. Fuck, he took everything from her sweet pussy, drenched with her response from watching what she’d given him, he’d given her, cupping her ass and pulling her into him so he could devour her.
She gave him more with his tail as she did it. She gave him more with her noises as he did it.
And when both of them were desperate and his hips were thrusting, rocking the bed, she grasped his hair again, yanked his face out of her sex, and slithered down.
She turned the plug up all the way and rasped, “Fuck me, beast.”
He didn’t even feel himself positioning. He just drove into her hot wet and drilled her. Out of control. Wild. Savage.
Just like his Amélie liked it.
He felt her come and distractedly heard it, his focus again scattered, ass, cock, balls, his chain pulling, the taste of her in his mouth, the smell of her, their noises, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to wait for her order to blow.
Luckily, she gave it.
And he blew, driving her by her pussy up the bed while doing it, only stopping and clamping down on her to hold her to take his fucking when his restrained legs wouldn’t allow him to move with her.
He was spent, bucking weakly into her, his face in her neck, his breaths coarse against her skin when she turned the plug all the way off.
Olly again sagged, resting some weight into a forearm but giving her the rest of it.
Amélie didn’t seem to mind, her hand drifting on the skin of his back, his ass, his hip.
Not phenomenal. Not sensational.
Motherfucking colossal.
Everything, from releasing his dick from his jeans at her front door to right then, her hand moving on him gently, petting him, soothing her beast.
He caught his breath and gathered his wits.
Just as he did this, she asked, “Are you hungry, Olly?”
His head came up and he looked down at her.
Then he burst out laughing, his head jerking back with that, his laughter having a grunt as his chain pulled, so he dropped his face and shoved it in her neck again.
When his laughter died, she asked, “Well, are you?”
Something struck him and that wasn’t funny.
He looked at her.
“You tailed me.”
There was something there, if he accepted it, which he’d done, and they both knew it.
Jenna and Barclay both told him that Doms gave subs things to lay claim. Mostly jewelry. Bracelets, cuffs, necklaces, chokers, nipple chains, cock rings.
Usually, these things could be worn visible so that out at a club or at a party, another Dom would know a sub was claimed. Or even out in the ordinary world, a Dom would know their sub was walking around, wearing their mark. Sometimes, these things were from past relationships and a sub would wear them simply to indicate which way they swung so a Dom eying him or her would know.
But Olly knew what was up his ass was that kind of gift.
She hadn’t given that to anyone else.
And he wouldn’t take it from anyone else.
Yeah, he’d made his decision about how their chat would go on Sunday.
And Leigh had made hers too.
As these thoughts cycled through his head, feeling great, Olly watched uncertainty wash across her face before she hid it but she couldn’t quite control it seeping into her words when she stammered, “Are you … you seemed keen—”
He cut her off so he could take her out of that place in her head.
“It’s beautiful, Leigh-Leigh.”
She relaxed under him.
“And packs a punch,” he went on, giving her grin.
“I had asked for added power.”
“Well, you got it,” he confirmed.
“Good,” she whispered, lifted up, brushed her mouth to his, and then dropped back down. “Now I asked my Olly if he’s hungry.”
“Plug up my ass, hard most of the drive, you think I’d stop for food rather than get here fast so you could jack my shit then make me a sandwich?”
He felt her body tremble with her laugher under him.
It felt fucking awesome.
“Then let’s get you some food,” she said and it seemed she was making a move to slide out from under him but he lifted both hands to cup the sides of her head and Olly again got her complete attention.
“Thank you for my tail, baby,” he whispered and saw her face soften but her eyes started shining, almost like they were getting moist.
With that he knew it meant just what he thought it meant.
He also knew just how much that was.
“And my chain,” he continued and dipped low, touched his nose to hers and slid it down the side, down her cheek so he had his lips at her ear. “Rocked my world again, Leigh-Leigh. Fuckin’ beautiful.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart.”
He kissed her neck and didn’t confirm he enjoyed it. When she wasn’t part of the show, she’d watched.
She knew.
He lifted up. “Now feed me.”
She smiled then ordered gently, “Back to your knees, Olly. I’ll take care of you.”
He pushed back to his knees and she took care of him.
In his jeans, his shirt on but unbuttoned, with her pulling
And he finally took in her place.
The Amélie he met who harnessed his cock to the floor and paddled his ass before she made him ride that paddle with his dick was a woman who, if he was told she owned this house, he’d call the teller a liar.
Leigh, on the other hand, belonged there.
All around, white adobe walls, dark beams exposed in the ceiling, but splashes of color everywhere. Native American inspired rugs over the tiled floors. Slouchy, comfortable-looking furniture you wouldn’t feel like a twat if you spilled your beer on it. Big, colorful toss pillows. Prints on the walls.
It was all rugged, rustic, southwestern or Indian or Mexican, nothing contemporary or elegant, nothing to break the feel this was not a place to see, it wasn’t a place to be, it was a place to kick back and hang.
Though, in the great room (which wasn’t strictly great, it was snug and smallish, and downright cozy, another indication this wasn’t a place she entertained, this was intimate to her, private) he reckoned the print over the adobe fireplace was an original DeGrazia.
She took him to a kitchen that had a high bar lined with stools that marked it from the living room and let him go to keep moving.
Only there did he see the money. Restaurant-quality fridge and stove. Imported Mexican tile, and not the kind you could buy in bulk at some tourist place. Battered copper backsplash behind the range with the only hint to her heritage, slanted fleur-de-lis stamped in the corners.
“My assumption was, that body of yours needs a good deal of fuel,” she stated as she rounded into what looked like a short hall at the side of the kitchen. “Though I didn’t know your preferred fuel. So I got a lot of everything.”
Olly really fucking liked the idea of Leigh going grocery shopping, getting food in, trying to find things he wanted.
He’d have to share what he liked.
And he was looking forward to discovering the same from her.
On these thoughts, he heard a door open and stood in the kitchen, staring down at the tile when a gorgeous, sapphire-eyed Siamese cat with chocolate boots, face, tail, and ears slunk into view.
The thing was weaving around the legs of his jeans before he noticed a hefty notch had somehow been taken out of one ear, there was a slight hitch when it moved its right hip, and that it had lost some of its tail.