Page 131 of Filthy Dirty Dom

Her hands moved to his zipper, her actions slow and deliberate. His body tightened as she slowly undid the fastenings. She pulled the trousers down and then, her movements slow and deliberate, she made her way over to the X-frame. She hung his pants over it, making a statement, and he grinned. He watched as she sauntered back to him, a predator about to claim her prize.

His boxer briefs were next.

Her finger trailed the length of him, her touch feather-light. He shivered at the contact, his body aching for more. He had never felt more exposed, more desired.

"Leslie," he growled. "How long do you plan on torturing me?"

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Until you beg."

He was a man who was used to being in control, of having the power. But in this moment, he felt helpless, and he loved it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked with hers. "Please," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I need you."

He saw a victorious gleam in her eyes, but it didn't matter. This was a game he didn't mind losing. Because in surrendering to Leslie, he found a different kind of power, a power that came from mutual trust, respect, and above all, love. And it was more intoxicating than anything else he had ever experienced.

The moment her mouth closed around his cock, Alex broke apart. All coherent thought vanished, replaced by raw, primal need. She was a siren luring him into unchartered territory, and he was an eager sailor, willing to be shipwrecked if that's what it took.

Her touch was divine, her hands skillfully playing him like a finely tuned instrument. She knew exactly where to touch, how hard to squeeze, when to slow down, when to speed up. Every stroke, every caress was a language of its own.

As she took his cock to the back of her throat, his fingers curled into the sheets, his knuckles white with the strain of holding back. He didn't want to close his eyes, didn't want to miss a single moment of watching her. Of seeing the subtle shift of her body as she pleasured him, the flick of her tongue as she tasted him.

He was teetering on the edge, a pleasure so profound it was almost painful. It coursed through his veins, turning his blood into liquid fire. It was building, building, a dam about to burst. And then she stopped.

Alex knew precisely what was happening the moment she ceased her movements, and surprisingly, the sudden halt of her ministrations brought a deep sense of satisfaction rather than frustration. His body ached with unspent desire, but it was her control that electrified him.

This was her taking charge, taking the reins, dictating the pace. As her mouth pulled away from him, he relished the gentle scrape of her teeth against his hypersensitive flesh, a perfect counterbalance to the warmth of her tongue.

For the first time, he reveled in the loss of his own control, found an exhilarating freedom in it. It was all about trust, and he knew that he was entirely in her hands, literally and metaphorically. His body was hard, tense, primed for release but he didn’t beg her to resume, not yet.

Alex’s chest heaved as he attempted to regain his composure, his eyes never leaving her face. She traced a path of kisses up his abdomen, causing his muscles to twitch involuntarily. He groaned, his gaze locked with hers, not pleading but acknowledging. Acknowledging her power over him, acknowledging the desperate need curling low in his belly, acknowledging that this felt so damn right.

In this moment, he wasn't just physically naked, but emotionally bare. The sheer intimacy of this act, the raw vulnerability he felt under her gaze, the way she was drawing out his pleasure, he felt more connected to Leslie than he had ever been.

Alex stretched out his hand, placing it lightly on Leslie's wrist, her hand paused mid-stroke on his cock. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his heart pounding as he looked into her eyes.

"Go to the cabinet," he directed, his voice hoarse with desire.

At first, Leslie looked like she was going to deny him, then she looked at the open cabinet and the tools inside: whips, crops, floggers, each made of various materials. He watched her eyes flare, then she rose from the bed and touched each tool.

Holding his breath, he watched as her hand hovered over the cat 'o' nine tails.

"Yes," he said, his voice resolute.

Leslie turned to look at him. "Are you sure, Alex?"

“Yes.”

As she picked up the implement, he stood and moved to the X-frame, turning to face it and raising his arms to hook himself into the restraints. The cold metal against his warm skin caused a shudder to run through him.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing Leslie's eyes burning with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He gave her a small nod, his eyes assuring her that this was what he wanted. This was his surrender, his trust in her hands, his pleasure at her mercy.

He closed his eyes, his muscles flexing, waiting for the first touch of the cat 'o' nine tails. The room was silent, the only sound being their labored breaths echoing in the space. And then, he felt it, the soft caress of the multiple tails against his bare skin. The game was on.

“I’m going to start now, Alex. “What’s your safe word?”

He thought of his safe word, the one he’d created based on how he and Leslie had played in the kitchen on Caris. Renee, Maria, Bella, and Rosa—they were all safe, so there was on reason the memory brought him anything but joy. “Flour,” he said.

“Okay. And you’re sure? You want this?”

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