Silk and Jasmine Submission for Marcus
# Bound & Blissful ## Kneeling on Silk The air in the bedroom was thick with the scent of her expensive jasmine bath oil, a soft, sweet cloud that clung to the silk sheets. Leah knelt in the center of the vast bed, her skin still faintly
Chapter 1
The air in the bedroom was thick with the scent of her expensive jasmine bath oil, a soft, sweet cloud that clung to the silk sheets. Leah knelt in the center of the vast bed, her skin still faintly damp and glowing from the heat of the water, her hair a spill of pale gold over her bare shoulders. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation that echoed in the quiet room. She had prepared meticulously, shaving every inch of skin until she felt as smooth and new as polished marble, her mind simmering with the words of the explicit stories she’d devoured.
Beneath the soft light, her full curves were painted in gentle shadows—the swell of her breasts, the generous dip of her waist, the inviting roundness of her hips. Every part of her felt hyper-aware, sensitized, waiting. The only sound was the soft whisper of her own breathing. Her blue eyes, usually bright with playful mischief, were now wide and dark with a deep, yielding calm. This was her offering. Her submission. She wanted the loss of control, the exquisite surrender of being utterly his to command.
The click of the bedroom door opening was deafening. She didn’t turn. She kept her gaze lowered, her hands resting palm-up on her thighs, a picture of waiting grace. Marcus stood in the doorway, a solid, silent silhouette. The sight of him sent a fresh, hot tremor through her core. His brown hair was tousled, his beard shadowing a jaw set in quiet, focused intensity. He didn’t speak at first, letting his presence fill the room, letting the weight of his gaze travel over every inch of her kneeling form.
“Look at you,” his voice rumbled, low and appreciative, as he finally moved into the room. His footsteps were deliberate on the carpet. “Perfect.”
He walked to the side of the bed, his fingers brushing the set of soft leather cuffs and silk ropes he’d laid out earlier. The atmosphere was tender, charged with a loving command. He wasn’t a harsh master, but his dominance was absolute, a secure wall she could lean all her weight against. He reached for her wrist, his touch warm and firm, guiding it to the waiting restraint under the bed. The leather was cool and supple against her feverish skin. He secured the first cuff with a soft click, then the other, his movements efficient, unhurried. Next, he guided her ankles apart, attaching them to the lower restraints. She was spread open, utterly vulnerable, her body a landscape presented solely for him.
He began with his hands, his palms warm and dry as they settled on the tense muscles of her shoulders. His thumbs pressed into the knots there, kneading with a firm, knowing pressure. A soft sigh escaped her lips as the tension began to melt under his touch. He worked in silence for a long moment, his hands mapping the slopes of her back, tracing the indent of her spine, learning the softness and the strength of her.
His touch migrated lower, over the full, generous curves of her rear, a slow, worshipful caress that made her shiver. His fingertips traced the hidden cleft, a promise of things to come, before moving to the backs of her thighs. Every stroke was a question, and her trembling skin was the answer. He leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. “Every part of you belongs to me tonight,” he murmured, his voice a velvet rumble of dirty promise. “Every sigh, every shiver, every gasp. I’m going to learn them all.”
His hands slid around to her front, skimming over the soft plane of her stomach, moving up to cup the heavy weight of her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her nipples
Chapter 2
His hands left her breasts, moving with a quiet command that made her body ache for more. He leaned close, his lips brushing her temple. “Now, turn for me.” The words were a soft vibration against her skin. With deft movements, he undid the soft cuffs, his touch never leaving her. He guided her with firm, tender pressure, helping her pivot on the silk until she was lying face down, her body stretched out across the width of the bed. He positioned a pillow beneath her hips, tilting her ass up into a gentle, inviting arch. Her face rested near the edge, the cool air from the floor a faint kiss on her flushed cheek.
The first splash of warm oil hit the small of her back, a shock of heat that made her gasp. His palms spread it slowly, working in wide, gliding circles that covered her from shoulders to the backs of her knees. The scent of almonds and sandalwood bloomed in the air, thick and sensual. He took his time, his hands molding the tension from her muscles with a deep, patient rhythm. Each stroke was a claim, a silent conversation written in pressure and heat.
He devoted long minutes to the full, round curves of her ass, kneading the generous flesh until it was pliant and warm under his palms. His thumbs traced the deep cleft between her cheeks with a slick, maddening slowness, circling the tight, hidden ring of her ass without ever applying direct pressure. The oil made every pass a slick promise. He moved lower, his hands sliding over the backs of her thighs, parting them just enough.
His fingertips found her pussy from behind, slick with oil and her own gathering wetness. He didn’t enter her. Instead, he traced the swollen outer lips with agonizing precision, painting them with slow, gliding strokes that made her hips jerk against the bed. He circled her clit with a feather-light, oily touch, a ghost of sensation that pulled a ragged moan from her throat. His other hand returned to her ass, one thumb continuing its lazy, circling torture around her asshole while the fingers of his other hand teased and spread her pussy, exposing her utterly to the warm, oil-slicked air and his relentless, watching gaze. The dual attention was exquisite torment, a building pressure with no release, keeping her suspended on a trembling edge of pure, desperate need.
Chapter 3
The warmth of the almond oil had soaked into her skin, making it gleam under the soft light. Marcus’s hands left her for a moment, and she heard the faint sound of a drawer opening. When his weight settled back beside her hip, she felt the cool, smooth tip of silicone press against her oil-slicked entrance. He didn’t hurry. He applied a gentle, insistent pressure, letting her body yield to the intrusion millimeter by millimeter. The vibrator was thicker than his fingers, a delicious stretch that made her breath hitch. As it slid fully inside her, he turned it on.
A low, deep hum resonated through her core, a vibration that seemed to echo in her bones. It wasn't a frantic buzz but a steady, pervasive thrum that filled her, making her clit pulse in desperate sympathy. His other hand, still slick with oil, returned to its tormenting work. His fingers found her swollen clit, circling it with a slick, maddening rhythm that perfectly counterpointed the deep internal pulse.
He began to move again, his focus shifting. His strong, oiled hands slid down the backs of her trembling thighs, his thumbs digging into the tight cords of her hamstrings with a firm, relieving pressure. He worshipped her legs, kneading the generous curves of her calves, his fingers tracing every tendon down to her ankles. He took her feet, one at a time, massaging the arches with a tenderness that felt incongruously intimate against the electric need coiling in her belly.
The dual sensation was exquisite torture. The relentless, building vibrations inside her pussy, combined with the expert, distracting pleasure of his massage, kept her suspended on a razor's edge. Her hips began to move of their own accord, a shallow, desperate rocking against the bed, seeking more friction, more pressure, anything to tip her over. The wet sounds of her own arousal mixed with the soft hum of the toy.
He read her body perfectly. Just as the first fluttering waves of an orgasm began to gather deep in her womb, his hand on her clit stilled, his touch becoming feather-light, almost absent. The massage of her feet continued, gentle and grounding, pulling her back from the precipice. He kept her there, balanced on a plateau of agonizing pleasure, her body humming, her mind blissfully empty of everything but the sensation of his control and the vibrating fullness inside her. The need was a living thing, but the release remained his to grant, not hers to take.
Chapter 4
His warm whisper was a promise, a command, and a blessing all at once. Marcus’s large hands slid from her feet, his slick fingers smoothing up the soft skin of her inner thighs, spreading her wider as he moved. He slowly removed the low hum of the vibrator that still resonated deep inside her, a persistent, maddening bass note. He positioned himself between her oiled thighs, his face a breath away from her glistening heat. His beard brushed the tender skin of her inner leg, a rough contrast to what was to come.
He didn’t dive in. He began with a slow, worshipful exploration, his tongue flat and warm as it lapped a broad, languid stripe from her soaked entrance up to the swollen bud of her clit. The sensation was electric, a shocking wet heat that made her back arch and a ragged cry tear from her throat. His tongue painted intricate, slow circles around her clit, a master artist learning his favorite medium.
His fingers never stopped their work. They kneaded the pliant flesh of her inner thighs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive crease where her legs met her body, then drifting back to trace the slick, swollen outer lips of her pussy. He held her open for his mouth, his touch firm and possessive. The dual sensations were overwhelming—the deep, hot, wet, circling torment of his tongue, and the constant, grounding pressure of his hands. Her hips began to rock in a helpless, shallow rhythm, fucking herself forward onto his mouth.
He increased the pressure of his tongue, the circles tightening, focusing directly on her clit. He sucked the sensitive nub gently into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it with devastating precision. A low, guttural moan was pulled from her very core, her body trembling on the edge of a precipice so high it made her dizzy. The coil of pleasure in her belly wound tighter, a spring ready to snap.
Just as the first fluttering contractions threatened to seize her, he pulled his mouth away with a soft, wet sound. His lips traveled to the inside of her thigh, placing a soft, biting kiss there, a gentle reminder of his control. His fingers replaced his tongue, maintaining the same circling pressure on her clit, keeping her suspended in that breathless, agonizing plateau of need. His other hand smoothed over the curve of her ass, a silent promise that this was far from over.