“I have a belt,” he tells me, “and you have a bed frame.”
My lips turn up into a feline smile and I turn to face him. “I just thought of my prize.”
“What?”
“For winning the quiet game,” I tell him. “I know what I want.”
“And what might that be, Sugar?”
I slip my hands into his jacket, slowly peeling it away from his body, and I let it drop the floor. After pulling the bottom of his shirt from its tucked-in position, I work the buttons on it one by one until I’m met with his bare chest. I drop the shirt to the ground along with the jacket and stand on my toes to press my lips to his tattoo.
Fumbling with the large, triple-skull embossed buckle of his belt, I open it and slip the smooth leather from around his waist, tossing it onto the bed next to us before I unbutton his slacks and slip them down his legs.
“It’s your turn,” I tell him. I grab the belt from the bed and hold it out to him. “Whatever you were gonna do with this for me, do it for you.”
“That’syour choice, huh?” He asks, taking the belt from my hand. Without moving his eyes from mine, he expertly wraps the belt into itself and through the buckle until two perfect leather loops rest in his hand. I take the makeshift restraint from his hand as he climbs up onto the bed, dropping onto his back, and he lifts his hands up in front of the wrought iron frame. “Alright, Sugar, wrap ‘em around there and get it tight around the wrists.”
A thrill shoots through me like wildfire while I climb over him, straddling his hips. I slip one of the loops around one of the wrought-iron bars, hesitating for a second. “Do you need a pillow, or…?”
Eric laughs so hard that it shakes the entire bed, dropping his hands from their position over his head to cover his face. And hedoesn’t stop fucking laughing. His knees curl up toward his body while he howls his amusement, and I bring my fist down onto his chest with a playful punch, fighting back my own laughter. “You’re being mean!”
“Aw, I’m sorry, Sugar,” he says, cupping my face while he tries to calm his laughter. “I’m sorry, start again.” I glare down at him while he brings his hands back to their position in front of the headboard, and I slip the loops of the belt around each wrist, securing them in place above his head. “A little tighter,” he instructs me with a smile. “You won’t hurt me.”
I pull the restraints tighter, until he seems impressed with the snug fit, and he tugs against it to check the resistance, throwing me a wink when it passes his little test. He won’t admit it, but I think there’s a little piece of him that likes being on this side of it for a change; being the one to surrender control. He’s so used to having the control that I’m not sure he realized before that in surrendering control, you can hold more power than you think.
That’s what I feel when I submit to him; why I like to do it. I have all of the power. One word from me and everything stops. In submitting to him, I control his needs; I control his pleasure, just as much as he controls mine.
I lean forward, meeting his mouth with mine, and his laughter comes to a dead stop while he deepens the kiss with a soft groan. My hands trail from just above the waistband of his briefs, up to his chest, and I run my thumbs over his piercings before sitting up on his lap.
“This is revenge, by the way,” I tell him.
“What do you need revenge for?”
I reach forward to push my fingers into his mouth, wetting them against his tongue, and I bring them back toward my body. Trailing my hand down the plane of my stomach, I answer, “For making me watch you for so long while you touched yourself.”
I slip my hand into my panties, strumming gentle circles over my clit, and the sensation combines with the ghost of the Ecstasy left in my system to shoot rockets through my nerves at the contact, making me gasp. I roll my hips against my fingers, feeling his cock swell beneath me, and a grin ticks up the corner of my mouth.
“Why don’t you put that pussy on my mouth instead?” He asks.
“Uh-uh,” I say with a shake of my head. “There’s no revenge in that. You like it too much.”
I work my fingers faster, supporting myself with my free hand braced against Eric’s knee. With every moan and whimper that slips out of my mouth, I can feel his cock harden; and every time that it does, it spurs me on. I slip my fingers inside with a loud moan, throwing my head back.
“Take off your panties,” Eric orders, his icy eyes fixated somewhere between my tattoo and my pussy.
His body is so tense underneath me that I think he’s on the verge of hulking out – and if he does, another part of me thinks that he might actually be able to break through the belt, or even the bars of my headboard, if he wanted to. He loves his belts – each of them custom made with the intent to be used for both fashion and impact – but he loves sex more. I ignore his orders, instead working my fingers faster while I roll my hips against him.
“Sugar.”
“You really want them off that bad?” I ask, and he nods as if he’s desperate. I use my free hand to quickly slip them off and past my legs. “There.”
I stuff the panties into his mouth, forcing a groan out of him in response that sends heat flooding my veins. I grind myass against his lap, and he leans his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. I hold out until his eyes are back on me before I let myself fall apart, crying out his name while I come.
“Have you suffered enough yet?” I ask him breathlessly, massaging my hands into his chest.
A muffled groan, accompanied by a desperate nod, is his only answer.
Fighting back a smile, I reach for the band of his briefs, evidence of my orgasm coating them, and I slowly pull them down his legs, freeing his cock. I wrap my hand around his shaft, trailing soft kisses along the underside of it from the base to the head, and it twitches in response.
