Ensnaring Grey

Author's Note: This tale has undergone a title change from Shades of Grey. A lovely reader brought it to my attention that a book existed with nearly the same title. To avoid any confusion, I happily made the alteration. Now on to the smut!

The crackling of the fire burning in the large stone fireplace would almost be comforting in a different situation; as would the simple quiet of a man relaxing in a well-worn leather arm chair obviously enjoying his brandy. His long legs are stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, fingers almost negligently caressing the supple dark brown leather. He closes his eyes as he brings the snifter to his nose, swirling the brandy as it warms from the heat of his hand, and inhales deeply, the smell of spices, peppery caramels, and smoky wood fill his senses. Slowly filtering through his reverie, the small sounds of leather being tugged at, stretching across well lacquered wood and breathy sounds of frustrated struggle. His eyes slowly open and raise, a smirk gracing his rose-colored lips, grey eyes crinkling at their corners.

***

I am unable to see the smirk, being turned away and busy pulling futilely at the leather straps securing me to the wood table. The table size is perfect, as if designed for me. It is the perfect height, fully supporting my upper body and torso while leaving my black stiletto-encased feet firmly on the rug. As this is all I am wearing, the support it gives my hips opens me completely to any and all observers. It is also the perfect width; the restraints force my arms to be fully extended over the table top, pressing my breasts against the now warm wood surface. I pull at the soft leather, ignoring how it starts to chafe my wrists, scowling at being left helpless and exposed for so long. I huff angrily and flip a blonde curl out of my face, frustrated with my predicament, and let my arms relax on the table, giving up my struggles for a moment. I stiffen at the sound of a chuckle behind me and my breath stutters and quickens.

“Squirm all you want, girl, it will do you little good,” his melodic, low voice flows over me, leaving goose bumps on my pale skin. I hear him slowly approach me, his footfalls soft as whispers on the plush carpeted rug. “But I am finding,” he begins, trailing a hand softly down my spine, “that it does wonders for me.” He presses his obvious arousal against my naked bottom and I am helpless to stop a slight whimper from escaping my painted red lips.

He is hard and even through his trousers feels hot and large. He grinds himself against me and I find myself moving my hips in time with his, my whimpers and panting betraying my growing need. He is not as unaffected as he likes to pretend; I can feel his breath coming in short pants skittering across the tender skin of my back and neck.

Suddenly his large hand comes down hard on my ass, making me yelp as much from the spank as from the sharp sound of it rending the near silence of the room. He chuckles again, a haughty sound, as he sooths the sting, massaging the soft, full globes of my ass and admiring the lovely red hand print his ministrations caused. I am biting my lip to keep from moaning, trying not to show how much I am enjoying being used like this. But I am only fooling myself; a betraying voice within in my own mind whispers that he already knows.

“Oh my dear, I believe we are going to have such fun this evening,” he purrs softly, trailing a deceptively gentle hand between my legs, softly caressing me. “But eventually you will have to submit, my headstrong little prize.”

I bite my lip again and vehemently shake my head, closing my eyes to try to ignore how good his questing fingers feel. I assumed disagreeing with him would anger him but he just chuckles again and continues gently touching the pouting outer lips of my pussy. He finally places his hand fully on my mound and presses a long finger inside me, seeking, and to my shame, finding my dripping heat.

“Oh, good girl,” he growls in my ear, chuckling yet again when my aroused pussy clenches around his finger at hearing such praise. He withdraws his wet finger and circles my hardening clit quickly. I can do nothing to stop from moaning and rocking my hips as best as I can from my bound position, seeking anything to increase the pressure. Suddenly he plunges two fingers deep inside my wet pussy, expertly finding that most maddening of spots and fucks me roughly. The wet sounds of his fingers moving hard and fast in and out of me fill the room.

I have drawn blood from my lip trying not to moan my pleasure. My body tingles from head to toe. I can feel my breasts pressed hard to the table, the wood pulling on my erect nipples with each rough thrust of his wicked fingers. I feel like I can’t breathe, my lungs feel as if the will burst. That deliciously torturous low burn builds swiftly in my belly and the muscles of my legs shake. I can feel myself climbing such an impossibly high peak, yet trying to fight it, trying not to give in, fearful of letting go. I cry out as tears leak from my closed eyes. Then his voice growls low in my ear.

“Come for me, girl.” As the words leave his lips, he bites my neck hard.

The pain shocks me and pushes up the perfect pleasure. My breath comes out in a rush. Stars burst behind my eyes as white hot pleasure pulls me along and over a rushing edge into oblivion. My screams echo in the once quiet study but are lost on me as I shake and my pussy clenches rhythmically with my pulse and drips, soaking his hand in my cum.

His fingers slow, gently drawing out my pleasure as I draw great gasping breaths into greedy lungs. He runs his other hand down my spine, tracing nonsensical patterns in to my back, now damp with sweat. I can almost feel his smile as he caresses me. My tormentor leans in close now, to whisper in my ear, “Good girl.”

***

He straightens now, tossing silvery blonde locks behind his shoulder as he turns to face the newcomer to the study. Silver eyes meet black ones and the men share a smirk at the sight of the panting, still twitching girl secured on the mahogany side table. This new gentleman walks quietly over to the bar against the wall and helps himself to a brandy. He raises his glass in silent salute to his friend’s accomplishments and takes a sip, settling himself on the leather couch and drapes an arm across its back. The blonde returns to his chair and retrieves a towel to dry his hand before raising his own glass. The fire crackles merrily away as the girl drifts off in a sea of endorphins, unaware of the visitor or his own plans for her.