The Dominant Male

further, seeking out the delicate hood that nestled between her constrained cunt-lips, as if to admit that her needs were really the boss, or that bribery might work where mastery had its limits.
    Still bridling from his vicious tug of her hair, since which he had not spoken, and occupied by her genuine reservations about what he was asking of her, she nonetheless felt her thoughts being pulled away from smarting about it further. Her sensations began to take over, so much so that she became aware of a contrasting sense of neglect in her left breast, and she realised that despite her mixed feelings she had been quietly sighing out loud for the last few seconds.
    Here she was – naked, positioned as if for display to any number of guests, unable to cover herself and not giving a damn about it. As Paul continued his ministrations, every so often grunting approvingly at her response, she couldn’t help but imagine. What if, in fact, he had indeed invited some guests over? It wouldn’t be an inappropriate thing to have done at this time, early on a Saturday afternoon.
    Imagine – a crowd over for drinks in the garden. ‘Have you met Manda?’ And her on display, atop the vaulting horse; the patio doors open, a breeze playing on her tits, hardening her nipples; her attempting to conduct polite conversation – Why not? Or her surprise at first, when no one would have arrived yet – the doorbell goes in the middle of a scene of theirs and Paul goes to answer it. Voices in the hall. And her, helpless, rocking back and forth on the horse, as she could – for to push her wrists back in the cuffs was to push her chest forwards and outwards, and vice versa, while the chain that hung from the cross-member overhead described an arc that forced her wrists higher the closer towards her back she drew them.
    And who would they be, the guests? Any number of Paul’s rather considered and sober-seeming middle-aged friends, she supposed, would do for starters. Well, why not? Maybe a few grey temples just showed they had a life to live and weren’t hung up on hair dye. What about Nev, the smoothie City lawyer with his mellifluous West Indian accent? Or Klaus, the graphic designer with the minimalist spectacles and that soft, Teutonic way of speaking? Either of those would, she had no doubt, be good for a few surprises.
    She supposed Paul thought the same way about some of her friends… Paul - his middle and index fingers had slid expertly into her cunt as if tailored to it, while his third finger and thumb were massaging her clit. Despite her inability to push up with her legs and feet, she found she could rock and pivot a couple of inches by squeezing her thighs, room enough to give her buttocks a pounding against the padded seat – and jerk Paul’s fingers as they slid against the rougher, sensitive patch of skin atop the frontmost flesh inside her cunt. At this angle, with Manda seated almost vertically, they could not penetrate too deeply. But like this, with her whole abdomen receiving a jolt, she’d wager she could steal an orgasm, and pretty quickly, too, especially as her mind honed in on the rhythmic chinkle-chankle sounds of the chain behind her, and the thudding of her heels against the horse.
    Not that Paul was in the habit of denying her orgasms. It was something he only did when he was sure her – or their – reward would be greater in the end, she had figured. But, with his current mood of frustration, he didn’t seem quite the guy she had grown used to depending on for reliable, even predictable, behaviour. While she’d trust him no end, of course, to respond appropriately if she got cramp, or used their safe word, or something of that order, he seemed self-absorbed, a little short on the attentiveness that, as a rule, made her feel like a princess even when he made her his slave, and could make time stretch out before her like a luxury, full of the anticipation of the pleasures that lay inevitably ahead.
    If it had crossed Manda’s mind that her concerns about Paul might have put her off coming, she needn’t have worried. He must have wondered if his seeming turn of spite had pulled her mind from the arousing space it had been in, to judge by his actions since. While his right hand moved between her breasts now, dividing its attention as if he sensed that she had craved he play with her left, his left hand continued its slicked ministrations between her legs.
    He whispered in her ear. ‘Tell me how