“Lucien, must you?” she asked in a strangled voice when he lifted the hem of her skirt just above her mons, giving him access to her pussy.
“I must, and so you must allow it,” he said simply before he flipped the edge of the tablecloth over her restrained hands and her lap. “Now,” he said, reaching again to touch a plump nipple, “it’s time to enjoy this delicious fare set before me.”
* * *
Her body trembled and vibrated like a plucked harp string as Lucien played with her breasts and tugged gently on the nipple chain, pausing every once in a while to feed her the creamy oysters spiced with a dash of the piquant mignonette sauce or to lift her wineglass to her lips. The combination of flavors on her tongue was sublime, what he was doing to her body the sweetest agony. She swam in a bright sea of vibrant sensation. She grew so wet, she knew there would be a damp spot on the fabric of her skirt just beneath her pussy. Had Lucien chosen the color black for her skirt because he’d known how aroused she’d become?
Another oyster slipped between her lips and Lucien bent to kiss her as the flavor filled her mouth. Once she’d swallowed, he plucked at her lips with his own, and then caught the lower one between his white teeth, abrading the flesh gently.
“Your lips are turning as red as your nipples,” he murmured.
She groaned softly. “If you keep biting them, they will turn redder.”
“Then I will keep biting them,” he murmured before he nibbled at her more, his pinching fingertips on her nipple and his sensual kisses making her desperate.
“Lucien, please touch me,” she begged softly.
“Where?”
“On my pussy. It aches so much,” she whispered as she slid her lips feverishly against his. She followed when he leaned back slightly, her mouth seeking out his.
He examined her face. “I will not touch you there yet,” he said, avoiding her lips until she made a sound of frustration at being deprived from the heaven of his mouth. He pinched at her swollen nipple and she moaned in rising agony, her hips shifting on the leather seat. “But you may come, if you can, while I play with your breasts.”
“Oh,” she gasped in a mixture of frustration and intense arousal when he tugged on the chain, and pleasure spiced with pain tore through her. “Do you require a little help in that mission?” she heard him say as if from a great distance.
“Yes,” she hissed.
She felt his hands on the chain, and saw he was loosening the bead below her right nipple. She gasped. Pain tore through, thousands of nerves firing at once at the sudden release of the taut clamp.
“Shhh,” he soothed roughly before he bent his head and took the nipple into his mouth. At the same moment, he lifted her bound hands an inch off her lap, making it impossible for her to press on her pussy from above.
A sharp cry fell past her lips as he drew on the throbbing nipple, and she began to shudder in climax. It hurt. It felt so good she could barely stop herself from screaming. Her hips bucked on the leather seat, but she couldn’t get the full friction she needed on her sex, giving her orgasm a tight, cramped quality.
She was disoriented when he lifted his head a moment later and hastily reattached the loop to her nipple, Elise wincing at the familiar pinch. He just as quickly fastened her blouse. Richard appeared a scant second after Lucien buttoned her jacket. Elise watched as if through a heat haze as Richard served them a lovely white-asparagus and mushroom salad. Richard opened his mouth to speak when he was finished, then glanced at Elise and closed it again. He quickly refilled their wineglasses.
“Enjoy your salads,” he said with a small smile before he walked away.
“Lucien?” she asked breathlessly when Richard was out of earshot.
“Yes, ma chère?” he said as he picked up his knife and fork and began to cut her asparagus.
“I will not survive until the main course if you keep this up.”
She saw his small smile. “You will survive, because I demand it of you,” he said simply before he lifted his fork and slipped it between her swollen lips.
* * *
Elise was beyond eating by the time the main course arrived. It wasn’t possible to exist in the sustained, white-hot fires of arousal and think of anything but release from the glorious torture. When Lucien noticed her turn away from the forkful of quail with chorizo, spring onions, and clover that he offered her, he kissed her lips softly. His gaze flickered over her face. She could feel a slight sheen of perspiration on her upper lip and gathering between her breasts. She panted, but gently, so as not to agitate her overly sensitive nipples against the buttoned jacket.
“Poor girl,” he murmured compassionately. He set down the fork and reached for a glass of ice water. He pressed it to her lips and she drank thirstily, knowing all along the cool liquid would never quench her inner fires. Lucien set down the glass when she’d finished and began to eat. His free hand slipped beneath the tablecloth.
“Oh” popped out of her throat a second later as his finger found her clit and rubbed firmly. Her eyes sprang wide. She stared sightlessly at the beautiful presentation on her dinner plate and shook in climax. Perhaps it was the inserted plug that made her climax so sharp, or maybe it was just the long period of sustained sensual stimulation, but her orgasm was explosive. She moaned in a mixture of misery and bliss as she tried to contain the detonation occurring in her flesh, thrashing her hips against Lucien’s finger.
“Better?” he asked her quietly a moment later as he ate, his hand still moving in her lap, working the last shudders of pleasure out of her.