Bertrice Small - Captivated

She had to conquer him.

And she liked that idea. It all came down to the power and control that seesawed between them.

But she was going to win now. She was going to go after him aggressively. She would be mysterious and elusiveforget all that business about his conditions and his rules. She wasn't going to do anything he wanted her to do.

Irresistible.

Scary.

What if ? But she wouldn't think about that.

Very soon he would start spending his nights at home, and then the games could begin…

Slowly, at first…

He didn't give an inch.

One had to have the patience of a saint

Until the night, five days later, she heard him climbing wearily up the steps.

It was late, late, late, surely well past midnight. The heat was, as usual, oppressive, the darkness formidable.

She had been waiting so long. She had prepared so well. But she had to be sure he was sound asleep.

She waited. A half hour later, dressed in a thin muslin nightgown and carrying a candlestick, she slipped into the hallway and listened at his bedroom door.

No sound. No motion.

She eased open the door and, shielding the candle, she crept inside.

He lay sprawled on the massive bed, as if he had just dropped his clothes and fell onto the mattress naked. His breathing was deep, regular, the sleep of someone who was exhausted.

The heavy sleep of someone who might have an involuntary erotic dream. Especially someone who didn't hesitate to employ a sexual apparatus that was still suspended in the shadows.

That was a good sign, that he hadn't yet taken it down.

She set the candlestick down in the fireplace cavity so that its glow was muted, and approached the bed, unsure just yet what she would do.

She wanted to touch him everywhere. His body was so smooth in some places, and yet so rough with hair elsewhere, she just wanted to slide her hands all over him and feel the heat and texture of him.

She wanted to wake him, and mount the harness, and entice him to copulate with her. Her body swelled with anticipation. She wondered how she could wait.

She had worn a satin sash around her nightgown. She untied it and wound it around her hand. Theresix inches of silk to stimulate his insensate body. Beginning at his feet, working her way up his thighs, his tight buttocks, the intriguing crease, across his narrow waist, up his spine, tantalizing his neck, his ear, his mouth; watching him writhe as his body responded, shifting slightly to get away from the insistent tickling movement of the silk.

Lovely, lovely to have him in her control, to see his hips press mightily into the mattress as he began to become aroused.

Elusive… She trailed the silk over his buttocks again, swirling it all around, and then down his legs and finally, regretfully, away as he began stirring, dousing the candle quickly, and slithering from the room, leaving him groggy, erect, and just barely aware of the faint scent of smoke and sin.

That was the first step. The second night was even trickier. She wore an old corset that she had refurbished. She had dyed it black and hand-sewn jet beads all over the bosom. It was cut just low enough so that she could bare her breasts if she wished, and it cinched her midriff so tightly it made her hips seem more rounded and voluptuous.

Not that she was planning for him to see her.

No, her plans were bound up in something different. Like immobilizing him.

Tricky.

She waited until there was the deepest silence permeating the house. Until the clock in the parlor struck one-thirty.

Again, she took the candle and placed it in the fireplace so that the light was diffused.

He was stretched out naked, this time on his back.

Perfect. She spent a full five minutes just looking at him. God, he was beautiful, even in repose.

But she had no time to waste looking at him.

The next part was the tricky part: lifting each of his arms and placing a satin restraint under it; then lightly forming the knot on each; and finally, pulling one so that she could tie the ends around his bedpostat which point he would stir, which meant she had to be quick and clever to get to his other arm before he fully awakened.

She was so gentle. Her fingers were like a whisper against his skin. She pulled slowly and finely on his left arm with all the finesse she could manage, until she got it up over his head; and then she tied the satin bonds to the post.

And indeed, as she surmised, he started to stir; she darted to the other side of the bed and grabbed the second satin tie quickly and yanked it and his arm toward the bedpost and knotted it.

"What the hell!" He pulled against the restraints, and then heaved his body upward in a massive effort to loosen the knots.

Drue stood at the foot of the bed, enjoying the sight of his bucking body. She wanted to ride those hips. She wanted to slide her hands around his secret places and explore them all.

She climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs.

Instantly he stiffenedall of him. Every inch of him as he felt her press her feminine pelt tightly against his thighs.

"Get off me."

She had decided beforehand that actions were more potent than words. His body was hers now to do with as she pleased, since he wasn't willing to take hers.

"Bitch."

She stroked his belly.

"Don't touch me" He bucked again, and she tumbled off him.

Maybe that was a good thing. There was a wealth of male secrets to be explored around his root and between his legs.

She inserted her fingers there purposefully, and he recoiled.

He liked that.

Good.

She probed further, and found a particularly interesting fleshy place beneath his scrotum; a dark, hidden male place. She stroked it purposefully and his body jerked involuntarily.

"Don't do that!"

She cupped the taut sacs in her palm and continued the rhythmic stroking of her fingers against that hairy, fleshy patch of skin. His penis rose majestically before her.

Some part of him just adored what she was doing.

"Shit…!!!" He pulled and twisted at his bonds, his body jolting again as she kept up her insistent examination of that most private place.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you"

"Ummm…" She pushed him onto his knees. This was an intractable man who needed to be shown who was his master.

She reached for his jutting penis with her free hand. Her breath caught: she had never touched him there before. Had never contained him with her hands. Had never felt the heat and length of him, never understood before that the power of him was pure flesh and blood and muscle.

"Just what I want," she growled, and surrounded him, and it seemed as natural as light for her to hold him, and instinctive as air that she begin to pump him firmly, tightly, purposefully.

"No. No. No… NO.'"

"Yessss," she breathed. He was amazing, all length and strength and heat and muscle and pure pounding erotic fury. He couldn't stop her; she knew he saw she was that determined, so he was going to use her. She could feel all that rage concentrated in her hand, could feel the moment he turned himself over to her and challenged her to wring him dry.

"Ahhh…"

That monstrous power of his willthat was his strength: that he would not give in to her easily. That she would have to work for her triumph, and his culmination, and from the most awkward position.

But she didn't care; she still held him in that hidden male place that drove him so wild, and now, in her hand, she held the focus of all that fulminating male power.

It was heady, luscious, erotic. He could only hold on for so long, and then she would have him utterly in her power and she would squeeze every drop of his cream from his body and revel in his torment.