It’s been a while since I’ve done a Garden post (nearly a month – gulp!), mainly because this episode took a lot longer to write than I expected it to. If you recall, we left Grace, naked, in the company of Nick and Caelan back in part thirteen. What will happen? (This episode’s accompanying visual should give you a very strong clue as to what’s in store for her …)

Haven’t read Garden before? Start here.

 

THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS – PART FOURTEEN

 

Seeing Grace sitting there so bravely, so openly, was beyond heady. And the way she’d responded to Caelan’s command, the way she’d pushed back her embarrassment and muscled herself under control? That had more than earned his respect. She was trying this time. Really trying. The thought made Nick harder than he would ever have thought possible.

Holding both ends of the blindfold in his hands, he moved closer to Grace and leaned over her to wrap the fabric around her head. Just before her eyes were obscured, he caught her staring up at him. Her emotions were clearly visible in them: Uncertainty. Fear. Arousal. The faint glimmer of trust that had bought her this far. That, above all else, was what he hoped would be burning far, far brighter by the end of their evening together.

Nick purposefully smoothed the material across the bridge of her nose and over the tops of her ears before tying the blindfold off just below the crown of her head. After making sure the knot was secure, he stepped backwards and regarded the woman in front of him.

Taking away her sight had bought an immediate change. Her whole body had gone on alert as she tried to reach out with her remaining senses and gauge what was going on around her. Or, more likely, what he and Caelan were about to do.

Nick smiled. The tension in her body and the subtle movements of her head as she attempted to ‘see’ her surroundings, despite her blindness, told him that she was completely in the dark. But he chose to ask her anyway, knowing that his voice would give her something tangible to latch on to.

‘Can you see, Grace?’

‘N-no, Sir.’

‘Good. If, however, the blindfold starts to slip, you’re to let me know immediately.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Excellent. Lie down, please.’

Even though he didn’t move to help her turn and lower herself, Nick quietly positioned himself near the edge of the table in case Grace slipped or looked like she might fall. Other than a slight hesitation as she tentatively lifted her legs off the floor and awkwardly lay herself down, however, she managed to follow his instructions without mishap – and used the opportunity to bring her legs primly together.

Nick cleared his throat.

In response, Grace went absolutely still.

‘Did I tell you to close your legs, Grace?’

The skin on her face not covered by the blindfold turned a deep shade of pink. ‘No, Sir,’ she said in a voice so tiny he barely heard her, yet, even as the words left her lips, she was moving to rectify her error, inching her limbs apart.

Nick moved to the foot of the table, deliberately overemphasising his movements so that Grace’s ears would pick up his change in position; would be aware that he had a direct line of sight to her pussy.

‘Bend your knees, put your feet flat on the table.’

He watched as she bit her lower lip, unquestionably working up the nerve to obey. A second or two later, she began to draw her heels across the wooden surface and up towards her bottom.

The movement spread her gloriously open and his dick jerked uncomfortably in his trousers as a stab of lust knifed through him. Her pussy lips, a dark rose pink, were glossy with the liquid arousal gathering inside her, and the dark hole of her anus had a gentle sheen to it, clearly moistened from the overspill.

Nick was momentarily arrested by the mental image of himself fucking Grace in the ass. Of pushing the head of his cock into her tight, slick opening. Squeezing himself inside her as her muscles both gripped and resisted his entrance.

The visual was so powerful, he found himself reaching for her calf with every intention of pulling her and her delectable backside to the edge of the table so he had unfettered access to it. With his hand mere millimetres from touching her, however, he caught himself.

Took a deep breath. Tried to calm down.

For fuck’s sake, Nick. Slow. She’s not used to this.

Grace hadn’t listed anal play as a hard limit – in fact, she’d reluctantly admitted it was something she was curious about. But Nick hadn’t missed her uncertainty and hesitation when they’d discussed it further. When they’d agreed to play he’d decided in his own mind that it was something they would work towards and he gave himself a mental slap on the hand for getting carried away.

Abruptly, he turned towards Caelan. He was watching him and Grace intently and had undoubtedly seen Nick’s brief loss of control. They’d talked a lot about this scene and how it should go – and the concerted fingering or fucking of her ass wasn’t part of it. The goal was getting Grace’s confidence back and gaining her trust. Yet, despite his slip, Caelan appeared completely unperturbed. He merely sat back and took another sip of his drink.

Nick turned his attention back to the female laid out before him. Her thighs were quivering gently and, further up her body, her nipples had become so tight and hard they were standing up like tiny mountain peaks on the soft swells of her breasts. Even as he watched, a glossy little bead of moisture gathered between the spread lips of her pussy.

Grace knew she was being looked at – and despite her discomfort at being naked and vulnerable before him, it was undoubtedly turning her on.

‘You have a beautiful cunt, you know.’

He deliberately chose the most explicit word to describe what he was looking at, curious to see how she would respond the raw language – and wasn’t disappointed when he saw her belly contract in shock and the moisture that had been gathering at her entrance slide slowly down the crevice between her buttocks.

He smiled at her reaction and continued talking to her as he walked across the room to the sideboard. ‘Right now, it’s as wet as hell and I bet all you can think about is having a nice, thick cock stuffed inside it.’ He opened a drawer and pulled out a long, black ostrich feather and a handmade leather riding crop.

‘But, unfortunately for you,’ he walked back towards the table, an implement in either hand, ‘that’s not going to happen tonight.’ He handed the crop to Caelan as he moved past him, and transferred the feather to his right hand. ‘Tonight, we’re going to engage in something called sensation play. And you’re going to come for me. As many times as you can.’

……..

Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest and she was almost deafened by the sound of the blood pounding in her ears. Her mouth felt dry, too. She swallowed reflexively, trying in vain to moisten her parched palate. The overt display of her body, the loss of sight, Nick’s dirty words – they were all twisting together to create an intoxicating flood of sexual desire. A part of her couldn’t quite believe all this was turning her on; the other part, the part of herself she normally kept locked away, was wholly unsurprised. Clamouring for more.

Her brain frantically tried to make sense of Nick’s words. Sensation play. What did that mean? Clearly, it has something to do with touch but … what exactly? Was he going to hurt her? Try to find out how much pain she could take? The thought had her tensing involuntarily and she held her breath, straining to hear Nick, to give herself some indication of what he might be about to do.

The brush of something whisper-soft between her breasts had her jerking what felt like a foot in the air. The lightness and gentleness of whatever it was coming as a complete surprise – especially on the back of her previous thoughts. The tension she’d held just moments before in her body slowly drained out of her. This felt … pleasant.

Her brain tried to analyse the source of the sensation: it was too light to be a piece of material – and it didn’t drag in the same way as fabric either. It felt like … a feather. Yes, that was it. A large, soft feather.

Having worked out what it was Nick was using, Grace allowed herself to relax further. What could he possibly do with something so innocuous? Stroke her to orgasm? Beyond unlikely. Tickle her into submission?

Her thoughts made her want to smile and she felt the corners of her mouth lifting as the feather began to move, running lightly along the underside of her left breast and then slowly, slowly up the side of it. As it came closer to her armpit, she twitched in response to the ticklish feeling but managed to settle herself as it changed direction and swept softly over her décolletage. When it reached her sternum, it turned and made its way downwards until it found the spot it had first touched her. A brief pause, and it was off again, unhurriedly following its original path.

Three, six, nine times, it circled her breast, moving infinitesimally closer to the apex with each ever-decreasing circuit. And all of a sudden Grace realised that the feather’s touch had moved a stage beyond pleasant. It still felt good but now it also felt … teasing. She realised that with every stroke, she wanted nothing more than for Nick to brush the silky barbs over the straining tip of her nipple, use it to caress her neglected right breast, which had, thus far, remained completely untouched. As the feather swept within millimetres of her desired goal she held herself perfectly still, every sense holding its breath in anticipation of its soft kiss on her erect flesh.

It didn’t come.

To her frustration, Nick began to circle outwards again, moving the feather away from where she most wanted it.

Grace couldn’t help herself; she lifted her left shoulder off the table in an attempt to push herself closer to the slowly retreating softness. Immediately, the feather left her skin and a large, warm hand on the upper slope of her breast pressed her firmly back into the wooden table.

‘Be still.’

The hand disappeared.

‘If you move again, there will be a repercussion.’

A few seconds later, the feather returned – to the exact spot it had first touched her.

And it started all over again.

The endless circling, the deliberate avoidance of her nipple. The little nub became so tight, so hard with anticipation, that it actually ached. Grace couldn’t understand it. She’d never considered her breasts to be particularly sensitive, yet all she could think about was Nick touching them – really touching them – and with something far more satisfying than a feather. His lips, perhaps. Or his teeth.

She was about to give in and push her breast upwards, consequences be damned, when the caress finally came.

It was deliciously and frustratingly light, a mere breath of sensation across the very pinnacle. Grace heard a soft groan and realised that it was her who had made it – and that she was starting to raise her back off the table in a desperate attempt to keep contact with that wretched feather.

Immediately, she dropped her weight back down onto the wood. She fully expected Nick to call her on her slip but, to her surprise, she only felt his fingers give her shoulder a light squeeze. A warning? Or was he pleased she’d stopped herself from disobeying him? His next words put paid to her confusion.

‘Nice save. Good girl.’

Thank God. She really hadn’t meant to move; her body seemed to be taking on a life all of its own, disconnecting itself from her rational mind. It was both worrying and, weirdly, liberating.

The feather petted and twirled around her nipple for a few more blissful seconds but, all too soon, it was moving away. This time, however, it meandered to the opposite side of her torso. Grace clenched her jaw, realising straight away what was about to happen. Nick was going to frustrate her right breast in exactly the same way. On one hand, it was a relief to know it was finally going to receive some attention. On the other, her left nipple was practically crying out to be petted some more.

By the time the feather finally made contact with her right nipple what seemed like an eternity later, Grace was so wound up she nearly cried out. The bloody thing had her strung so tightly she felt like she might snap, its touch enough to arouse to the point of distraction but far, far too light to give any sort of satisfaction. So lost was she in the sensation of it caressing her puckered flesh, it took Grace a second or two to register that something smooth and cool had come to rest, light as butterfly, against the crown of her left breast.

What on earth was it?

She barely had time to contemplate the mysterious object, however, because two things happened simultaneously: the feather began to track downwards over the curve of her belly and strong, masculine fingers wrapped themselves around her right arm in an uncompromising grip.

Her mind raced in confusion. How could Nick be touching her in three places at once? He only had two hands.

Then she realised.

Caelan.

Grace stiffened momentarily. How had she not heard him move? Was it his hand on her arm?

No, it couldn’t be. It was on the same side as the feather and since coming to rest on her body that second time, the latter had never stopped moving, never left her. Caelan had to be holding whatever it was against her left breast.

Her ears strained to pick up any small sound that might confirm her suspicion, but it was no use. All she could distinguish was the faint rustling of clothing on either side of her, the sound of breath moving in and out of two different sets of lungs. The feather paused, hovering at the top of her pubis, pulling all her attention back to her uncomfortably aroused body.

All of a sudden, who was where didn’t seem to matter any more. All she wanted was relief.

Given the way it had relentlessly teased her breasts and nipples, Grace fully expected the feather to bypass her bare mound and steeled herself for the inevitable torment, clenching and unclenching her fingers against the cool wood of the table.

It swept directly downwards over her swollen, pouting clitoris.

Completely unprepared, Grace’s hips bucked upwards of their own volition and a soft mewl broke from her open mouth. She arched off the table but as she did so, something impacted against her left nipple with a sharp smack.

It began to throb like a heart dipped in white-hot starlight.

Dazedly, Grace realised that it had been struck with whatever had been resting against it. Too surprised to fully process the actual blow, her brain struggled to make sense of the dissipating sensation. Within seconds, it gave way to a warm tingle that seemed to radiate out like an electric current through her body.

The feather stroked upwards, returning to the top of her slit, dragging slightly in the wetness between her legs.

Another smack. Another explosion of throbbing – this time in her right nipple. The feather’s touch disappeared completely and the fingers around her arm tightened slightly as she began to squirm restlessly, her head tossing from left to right.

God! She needed …

A hand settled directly over the spread lips of her pussy, its fingertips coming to rest against the throbbing entrance of her cunt. It was still for a moment, but then the fingers dipped lightly into its wet mouth and bought the pooling liquid upwards towards her engorged clit.

Yes! screamed the frustrated voice of desire in her head.

The fingers stopped moving, millimetres from their target.

‘What colour, Grace?’

What?! What the hell was he talking about? Grace clenched her pelvic muscles in frustration and tried to surreptitiously shift her weight to bring herself a fraction closer to what she was now absolutely certain were Nick’s taunting fingers.

Smack.

Smack.

Rough tingles of sensation raced outwards from both nipples as they each absorbed the impact of whatever it was landing on them. Nick’s fingers moved downwards, away from her poor, throbbing clit, which, unbelievably, seemed to be swelling more and more in the aftermath of the discipline met out on her breasts.

Grace shuddered involuntarily and a strangled whimper burst from her lips, ‘Please, please touch me.’ She was begging and she didn’t care in the slightest. ‘I need to come! Please!’ The last ‘please’ was voiced as a pathetic whimper.

The fingers didn’t move.

‘Did you just tell me what to do, little sub?’

Her heart froze at the cold tone.

‘I … Yes, but –’

‘Grace.’ Nick’s voice was positively Arctic. ‘I’ll touch you any way I want, with whatever I want. You do not get to tell me how.’

Grace felt like crying in frustration, yet another part of her wanted to wilt in the face of his disapproval. ‘I’m sorry, Sir.’

She could literally feel his eyes roving over her in the silence that followed her apology. When he finally spoke, she was relieved that his tone was blessedly even. ‘What colour, Grace. Green, yellow, or red?’

Of course. That’s what he wanted. To know if she was okay with what was happening to her. How could she have been so stupid? It was like her brain had gone into go-slow mode.

‘Green, Sir. Green.’ The words tumbled out, so frantic was she for him to continue leading her along the path they’d started down.

She heard soft chuckles on either side of her and felt her neck and face flush. It was obvious that both Nick and Caelan found her desperate state of arousal amusing. Before her resentment could build, however, one of the fingers between her legs gently circled the entrance of her vagina and then eased slowly inside to the first knuckle. Grace sucked in a breath and, just like that, all her focus was back on the hand touching her. Whatever happened, she told herself, she wouldn’t move. Not even an inch. Would give Nick absolutely no reason to stop this hideously wonderful torment.

His finger left her pussy, drew upwards, paused, and rubbed across her clit like a benediction. Steady little circles, the rhythm and pressure changing slightly every few seconds.

Lighter. Firmer. Slowly. More quickly.

It took everything Grace had to lie still, to endure the excruciatingly arousing sweeps and the resulting bolts of pleasure that threatened to swamp her. She was so close to coming. So close. But Nick’s touches were just a fraction too light, the pattern too erratic to send her over. She whimpered softly.

Don’t move. For God’s sake, don’t move.

‘Something wrong, Grace?’

Her voice came out as a croak.

‘N-no, Sir.’

‘I’m touching you. Isn’t that what you wanted?’ His fingers made a fluttering movement, sending her sailing excruciatingly close to the edge, and then backed off until they were barely touching her.

She couldn’t think. Her entire being focussed on the aching place between her legs. It and the man touching her had become the centre of her universe.

‘Grace. I asked you a question.’

What? Oh, yes. Her earlier request to be touched. Curse him but he was evil. Nick was deliberately teasing her. Punishing her for her earlier words. And making sure she knew it. Grudgingly, she answered.

‘Yes, Sir. I did.’

‘You don’t sound pleased that I granted your request?’

‘I- …’ his fingers left her clit and dipped into her pussy, but far too shallowly to give any sort of satisfaction.

‘Mmm?’

In, out. A light, taunting sweep upwards over her clit and back down. Again. And again. And again.

It was too much. The words were out of her mouth without thought, choked and desperate. ‘I’m sorry, Sir!’

The fingers stilled and Grace almost sobbed.

‘Good.’ The words were whispered right next to her ear, carried on Nick’s warm, breath.

Seconds later, the hold on her right arm disappeared and fingers gently probed the top of her labia, surrounded the hood of her clitoris. Eased it back to reveal the tiny, sensitive core.

Time stood still.

A finger moved upwards. Massaged her exposed clit with firm, devastating strokes that were just shy of unbearable.

The cool, smooth instrument fell from above and her breasts turned molten as it once again made contact with them, rapidly and repeatedly striking her stiff, aching nipples.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

The orgasm that had been hovering exploded through her like a hurricane. Smashed though her body, tossing it about like a ship on a wild sea. Ripped every coherent thought from her mind by the roots. Nothing seemed to matter. Nothing except the tumultuous storm of sensation raging inside and over her. In the back of her mind she heard someone crying out, yelling – was it her?

On and on it went until eventually she was left, emotionally and physically washed up on a boneless beach of contented nothingness, her heart galloping in her chest.

Slowly, her senses returned. Warm hands – four hands – rested on her shoulders and her raised knees. Were they holding her down? The sound of deep breathing nearby, the cadence of one set of lungs – the one on her right – extremely ragged.

Grace lay there in the comforting quiet, trying to get her bearings, the minutes ticking slowly by.

Nick’s voice, when it came, was rough and raw as crumbled stone.

‘Again.’

 

Related posts: