Mirror of My Soul

Marguerite knew it all to be purely teasing on Violet’s part, however. She did soft play with other male subs to rouse her husband’s unexpectedly strong alpha nature, or as part and parcel of the intimate atmosphere of The Zone, but male subs did not touch her except in the most restrained of ways. They definitely did not engage in serious play with her. The smell of her pussy was as close as Roland was going to get to it, but of course that was more than enough from Mac’s perspective, if the tense line of his body in the lounger and the narrowed, intent focus of his silver gaze was any indication.



Marguerite poured another cup for herself and set the pot back down on the small of Roland’s back, just above the curve of his buttocks. It was a small teapot, easy to take with her on overnight visits and she was fond of it, the rounded base and sturdy balance perfectly appropriate for her needs at this moment. She put it down directly on Roland’s skin this time rather than the tea cozy, for it was hot enough to be uncomfortable, but not dangerous. She ratcheted up the vibration level of the plug, noting his cock was stiff as steel with his nose inches away from Violet’s crotch and her own hands stroking his flanks. Scraping him occasionally with her nails, she fondled his testicles, ran a nail down to the base of his cock or rocked the plug as the mood took her. Compounded with the psychological impact of using him so functionally, she suspected he was on the knife edge of climax. Ready for the release of pain. “Would you like another cup?”



When Violet nodded, Marguerite placed the cup in the small of Roland’s back.



“Stay very still, Roland, no matter what. Mistress Violet will be very displeased if you spill her tea.”



“Yes, Mistress.” Roland’s voice was hoarse. The head of his cock glistened with pre-come. Marguerite noted that Violet’s body was obviously being well aroused by the heat of his breath stroking her, which in turn was likely making him insane with the scent of her desire. The woman’s hand feathered up her belly, playing with that piercing and then went farther, her fingertips whispering up to her breast, over the nipple that had peaked beneath the brief bikini top as she watched Marguerite pour.



Mac made a noise that could only be called a growl as his tiny Mistress leaned forward to take the cup from Marguerite, which pressed Roland’s face into her thighs, his nose practically buried in her cunt.



“You’re torturing him,” Marguerite observed. “He’s enormous now.”



“Mmm.” Violet swept her lashes down. “He’s amazing that way. And I’m afraid I’m too easily overwhelmed by it.” A smile crept onto her face. “Sometimes I think falling in love makes you lose an edge as a Mistress. Other times I think it makes it easier to stay on that edge, to have the confidence to explore it more deeply than you would otherwise. It makes you even more adventurous.” Marguerite was fighting against her amusement and Violet suddenly picked up on it.



“You were talking about Roland, weren’t you?”



“Yes, I was.” Marguerite sighed. “Roland, I suppose you’ll just have to make do with my attentions. Mistress Violet is a bit distracted. Though I think—” she raised her voice, her eyes meeting Violet’s in perfect accord, “that you’ve done an admirable job of making her pussy wet, just with your warm breath. Perhaps she’d pay more attention to you if you blew on her a bit to cool her down.”



She ran her bare toes along the back of his muscular arm, braced out next to the leg of Violet’s chair.



“You’re a troublemaker.” Violet’s laughter was a little breathless, ratcheting up as Roland apparently followed Marguerite’s direction. “Both of you.” When he shifted his head, Marguerite caught a glint in Roland’s eyes. She allowed him a tiny smile of approval. Since she had his attention, she lifted the pot and very precisely poured a teaspoonful of it onto his skin, watched the steam curl up. Roland quivered hard, but did not move.



“Again, Mistress,” he begged, his voice muffled against Violet’s skin.



She obliged him, in several places, until he was panting with the exertion of staying so still, his cock leaking its need onto the pillow. Violet was making short, taunting rubs against his mouth, a mouth not allowed to move against her without a command from his Mistress for the evening.



“Violet.” Tyler called to them across the pool. Marguerite could tell he was trying to keep the humor out of his voice and sound reproving. “That chair Mac is going to turn into kindling in about twelve seconds is imported from Egypt. It probably constitutes three months of his laughable salary, which I will not hesitate to take out on your cute ass if he breaks it.”



Violet cast a look of feline satisfaction at her husband, then gave Marguerite a genuine smile, a steady look.



“Thank you for the tea, Mistress,” she said formally. “Perhaps you’d like to try the furniture at my home some time.” Her eyes danced and she sent Tyler a wink, then bent and placed a light kiss between Roland’s shoulder blades. She gave him a light swat as he returned the favor, a stolen kiss across her crotch as she rose. “Now Mistress Marguerite will have to punish you for that, Roland.”



“Yes, Mistress. I’ll take it gladly.” There was a smile in Roland’s voice as well as desire. Marguerite was amazed to discover that a D/s session could be about fun as well as intense release. Though from the size of Roland’s erection, she thought it might be about time to reward Roland with the latter. For the moment though, she let his arousal build watching the scenario playing out before them.



Violet sauntered toward Mac. As she did, Marguerite saw the playfulness shed off her shoulders like a cloak, her walk becoming almost predatory, a woman on the hunt for sex, her expression becoming one of hunger. The game she’d been playing was ready to close into something that was not a game at all.



Marguerite had to catch her breath herself at the sight of the furious man. Of Mac’s body, all the impressive musculature drawn up in tense readiness, every smooth, powerful curve defined as he resisted the desire to shatter the bindings which were psychological only. He was not resisting the raging need to be with his Mistress, however. His silver eyes were focused only on Violet as she met that intimidating gaze with one of her own, one that challenged him, that told Marguerite clearly that Violet had been aware of every degree of frustration she’d been causing her husband.



“I can smell you from here, sugar,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You value his life, you better come here.”



Violet was wearing stilettos with her brief bikini and she used the combination to good effect now, swinging her hips, untying the top as she came toward him, dropping it without self-consciousness in front of her audience. It dropped to the concrete, exposed her small perfect breasts to her husband’s avid gaze. In a graceful move she straddled his face, clamping her hand down on his throat to hold his head as she slowly, slowly lowered her hips until her crotch was right over his mouth. “Can you eat me out better than that young stud over there, Mackenzie?”



“He should take notes.”



Violet smiled then, a softer expression. Resigned humor entered Mac’s gaze as well, tempered with a mutual heat and energy that made Marguerite feel they were no longer aware of anyone else. “You’re making me fucking crazy, Mistress.”



“Can you serve your Mistress so she desires no others?”



“I’ll do my best.” There was a raw quality to his voice now. Violet’s touch on his neck eased, became a caress.



“Make me come with your mouth. You know I love that.” Marguerite found herself riveted by them, the slide of Violet’s body over that strong jaw, his body still stretched out and bound as he served her, made her body sinuously dance upon him. She threw her head back, the auburn curls tumbling, her hands rising to caress her breasts before his gaze. She moaned at the first touch of his lips, a sound of coming home as much as it was of sexual pleasure. Roland’s body quivered and Marguerite had a sudden urge, an urge so strong she couldn’t deny the image in her head. She wondered if she could trust as Violet had suggested she could trust, to explore the many things that love could be, ways it could be expressed.



She removed the teacup and pot, set them aside. “Roll to your back, Roland.” He obeyed, adjusting himself on his back on the row of cushions. His green eyes were sparkling jade with anticipation for what he obviously hoped she was about to demand of him. When he moistened his lips, she was riveted by that soft, clever mouth.



Bending, she reached under him and made sure the plug was turned back up to its highest setting, made more potent since the pool deck floor beneath his pillow pressed it deep and steady into him now. His eyes widened and his body quivered, his cock jumping in response.



“Not until you make me come,” she told him. “Only then.”



“Yes, Mistress. Oh…Jesus…” Roland strangled on a moan as her fingers caressed his cock before she straightened.



Marguerite rose, as aware of Tyler’s attention as Violet had been of Mac’s. As such, she took her time, teasing both the man across the pool and the man at her feet as she loosened the lacings on either side of the pants, easing their hold on her sufficiently.



Picking up a large navy blue towel, she brought the pants even lower on her hips, knotted the towel around her waist and slid the garment off her legs with only a brief glimpse of her upper thighs, the crease of thigh and hip, curve of buttock. She moved the knotted side of the towel to her hip, keeping that side bare so her flank was exposed, but nothing else was. Then she stepped deliberately over Roland’s face and sank down onto the young man’s eagerly waiting mouth, as Violet had done with Mac.



She kept her eyes on Tyler as she did so, even as the sub’s clever lips and tongue immediately went to skillful work on her beneath the dark concealment of the terrycloth, making her rock, reach behind her to brace herself on his flat abdomen for balance. Because of the towel, her sinuous, seductive dance of pleasure did not reveal what was being done beneath the skirt, the way her cunt was shoving against his mouth, surging sensitive skin against the rasp of his jaw, spreading her moisture over his lips, chin, cheeks. But her upper body shuddered at the sounds of his pleasure, at the hardness of his cock when she manacled it with her fingers, held tightly onto it, letting him feel the power in her grip, the command she still held of the situation.