Ninety Days Ch. 01

Ninety days, her mentor's had said. Give it ninety days. Should the interest persist beyond that they would arrange to see her fascination...sated. She glanced into the dark eyes before her with a shiver of apprehension, the slow swirl of heat in her belly belying any real fear, Michael's patient, amused profile in the background, turned toward the tiny Domme that had traveled with them as well.

For a moment, her gaze wandered over the interior of the mountain cabin, the brilliant sunshine pouring through the huge expanses of glass, caressing the sheen from the sensual woods that paneled the walls. Her eyes traced the wooden supports spanning the length of the great room, reveling in the shiver that stole over her as her mentor and the tiny sadistic Domme uncoiled the ropes and unbound the chains that would, shortly, restrain all three slaves in the room.

"Yes," Sir Guys words throbbed, quietly complacent, at her ear, startling her attention back into focus. The tall, powerful Dom had caught her interest three months ago with His persistence and gentle persuasion, an old soul with a gentility that she simply couldn't resist. He'd petitioned her mentors for an introduction.

His fingers; strong, tender, brushed the nape of her neck, arousing a greedy flame of sensation from the circlet of tiny bite marks left behind by the Domme during their plane ride out. That, in turn, stirred and rekindled the aching bruises on breasts and thighs that Domina had left to mark her own interest. The event may, indeed, have been a disappointment but Cyn had little doubt the weekend would be anything but exquisite.

"Kneel for me," quietly decisive, the command swirled over raw senses, dropping her to her haunches in liquid response, knees splayed wide, the hem of her short skirt riding high against her flesh, back arched to offer the full swell of her breasts as a sensual feast. Her palms, held upwards in supplication, rest lightly on thighs slicked with the sweat of anxiety and sensual hunger. Head back, blonde tresses a chaos of swirling silk at her shoulders, her eyes, darkened with ardor, glance respectfully away.

"Gods, girl," the husky timbre in his voice coursed through her like honeyed whiskey. He knelt beside her, one finger freeing her bottom lip from the clutches of her own teeth. The feel of his lips; soft ,subtle, tasting her for the first time left her breathless, one large hand sliding up the nape of her neck, burrowing deeply into the roots of her hair.

Her own gasp was a soft mewl of frenzied need, her lips struggling against his as they hardened on hers, demanding entrance, parting and plunging beyond their boundaries as his other hand stole around one tiny wrist. The thrust of his tongue threw her senses whirling, her body fighting to remain kneeling even as it coveted the feel of him melding against her.

Shuddering, the kiss deepened yet further and Cyn felt her responses with aching awareness; the heated, swollen heaviness of her breasts, aching for contact; the pool of liquid heat coalescing into raging sensual fervor in her belly, between her legs, in the sheen of sweat that slicked the valley of her breasts; the sweet, blissful pain of his hand tugging deeply at her hair...

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he dropped the hand that tangled so deliciously through her tresses to grasp her other wrist, encircling it with fingers hard with coiled tension. His teeth, imprisoning the sweet delicate flesh of her lower lip, bit down and he stood, pulling her with him.

"Be still," the command, edgy and decisive, brooked no response save obedience. She stilled, their bodies within centimeters of each other, her arms held high above her head in his grip, his breath, sweet, hot and rousing feathering lightly over her temple. Her own breath, heavy, belabored, eager with hunger brought her breasts to brush lightly against him with each soft pant, her nipples raging with tender heat at each contact.

"Oh God," the aching, yearning plea that spilled without conscious volition from parted lips left him chuckling above her, his eyes, black and primal, alight with humor and dazzling power.

"Yes, I'm here." Not a question, his tone so replete with satisfaction it made her shudder.

The frenzied squeal of a younger slave pealed through the room, distracting both of them for a moment. He laughed yet again, feeling Cyn's shudder of commiseration in his arms as they both took in the cherry red flesh left behind from Domina's agile fingers.

A shimmer of chains descended from the rafters, Jesse's fragile wrists encased in the soft, pliable knotted rope that was so much Domina's signature, strung up on her tiptoes. For a moment, Cyn felt her attention waver, her eyes taking in the graceful and inspiring shibari creation the sweetly sadistic Domme had concocted in so little time. Each knot an art form in itself, placed with exquisite care to stroke sensual points and energy lines to a fervor, as the night wore on. She felt the strength of his fingers tighten on her wrists.

Further down, across the room, a second set of chains cascaded in sullen promise. From them descended the writhing, kicking figure of Tempari, a hell cat submissive that had met her match in both Michael and Tezza. Her ankles, encased in the thick, unlined leather restraints that were Michael's favorite disciplinary measure, were strung from the chains, her body straining and turning in circles, her palms scrabbling uselessly at the polished wooden floor.

She'd arrived with Domina, who'd tried to council her on the Gorean belief system...its traditional and very conservative approach, but hadn't made a dent. A playful, taunting and delectable creature, Tempari had crossed the line several times in as many hours with Tezza and later, Michael.

Armed, each of them, with cane in hand, Cyn didn't envy the girl the next couple of hours. The culmination of the evening would be sweet indeed, for they'd see to that...she winced as Tezza's stroke came down decisively against one tender foot, and turned her attention back to Sir Guy.

Startled to find the midnight eyes intent on hers, she blushed, aware that he'd taken in every fleeting emotion that adorned her features. His gaze lifted, glancing gently at the third set of chains before narrowing on hers once more.

"Are you ready?" the phrase was followed, as he dropped one hand to her breast, by the soft exploration and sudden, fierce squeeze of a nipple, leaving her eyes swimming with tears of sensual abandon. She bit her lip, blinking back the sensual haze and nodded.

"Are you ready?!" his hand dropped lightly beneath the hem of her skirt, cupping her heat with the lightest of touches. Helpless to resist, Cyn feels herself cleaving to his touch, his fingers tightening into a deliberately cruel grip of the soft folds of her flesh, bringing a ringing cry from her lips that solicits a chuckle from Domina across the room.

"Yes! Please, yes..." the musky, spicy scent of her own arousal drifts up around them and she blushes lightly at her wanton response to the man.

He radiates power, a presence that is palpable to every sense she owns and she watched his eyes narrow, going from mist to midnight as he recognized the depth of her reaction. Agile fingers slipped beneath the scrap of silk between her thighs, homing in on the heart of her sex with innate skill. She felt the well of slick heat, held back only by arousal-swollen lips, surge, slicking his fingers, his palm... The quiet hitch in his breathing, the soft grunt of approval and delight, fire her senses to new heights as he strokes her...too lightly...taunting her with his butterfly touches, gathering her heat on his fingertips and bringing them slowly first to his lips, then her own.

The quick turn and almost abrupt tug of Guy's hand on her wrist left her all but sprawling in his wake as he led her toward the third set of chains. With a length of rope swiped from our neighbor, first one wrist, then the next soon sported bracelets of flexible knots. His hands, large, masculine, rough and rousing, slide up her arms, thumb caressing the pulse at her elbow, lips pressed to the pulse at her wrist.

"Are you ready?" The phrase taunts her, eyes pinned to his, spilling every secret held in her soul...