Room & Board Pt. 02

Chapter 15 -- The Window

Come just after sunset.

Do not wear underwear.

Bring your silence. And trust.

Brandon's pulse was already rising when he stepped outside, the sky streaked in lavender and ash. The day had been humid, the kind that leaves everything soft with sweat. His skin still glowed from the cold rinse he'd taken minutes earlier, his cock heavy beneath linen pants, the onyx pendant hanging like a secret.

He didn't knock. He never did anymore.

The door was ajar.

Inside, all the lights were off--except for the tall floor lamp beside the large bay window that faced the back garden. It was turned on deliberately. The curtains had been drawn wide.

The light framed a single armchair placed directly before the glass. A blindfold rested on the seat cushion. The night beyond the glass was dark enough to reflect the room inside--his silhouette would be visible to anyone watching.

Raquel appeared from the shadows, barefoot, in a deep burgundy robe that hugged her curves and trailed behind her like smoke. Her hair was loose, wild, as if she hadn't touched it since waking. Her eyes locked on his, unblinking.

"You came," she murmured.

Brandon nodded.

She reached up and gripped his chin, firmly. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to put you on display tonight. You'll be blindfolded. You won't know who might be watching. It could be no one. It could be a neighbor. It could be someone I invited."

His throat bobbed.

"And you will stay still. Obedient. Exposed."

"Yes."

Raquel untied his pants slowly, eyes never leaving his. She let them fall to the floor. He stepped out of them, naked now, cock already full and twitching.

"Sit," she said.

He obeyed.

She tied the blindfold over his eyes--tight enough to black out the room, loose enough to feel her fingertips lingering against his temples.

Then she walked away.

Brandon could hear her steps--quiet, deliberate. The rustle of fabric. The whisper of skin on silk.

Then: silence.

He sat in the chair, back straight, cock throbbing, blindfolded, fully nude in front of the wide glass. He could feel the light framing him. He could sense how visible he must be--how completely vulnerable he'd become.

Then her voice, soft and near his ear:

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"That's what surrender tastes like."

She walked in front of him now. He could sense her, smell her perfume. The chair creaked as she straddled him--but didn't sit.

Her robe rustled. Then he felt it: her bare thighs brushing against his knees. Her skin was warm. Wet. She was naked beneath.

Raquel leaned forward and whispered:

"I'm going to touch myself in front of you. You won't see it. But you'll feel it. You'll hear it."

She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. Then let it fall.

He kept it there, still, trembling.

Then he heard it--the wet sound of her fingers sliding over her pussy, slow and rhythmic, just inches from his lap.

Brandon clenched his fists.

"You're already leaking," she said softly. "And I haven't even touched you."

Her breath hitched. The rhythm of her hand picked up, faster now, wetter. She was moaning--soft at first, then deeper, throatier.

He wanted to beg.

But he didn't.

Instead, he sat blindfolded and shaking while Raquel pleasured herself on her own thighs, in his lap, in front of the open window.

Then it stopped.

A moment of silence. No movement.

Then he felt her fingers wrap around his cock.

One stroke. Slow.

Then another.

She leaned into his ear. "I'm going to stroke you until you're right on the edge. Right in front of the glass. Where anyone could be watching. And you're going to hold it."

He cried out softly. "Raquel--"

She tightened her grip. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes. God--yes."

"Then earn it."

She stroked him harder now. Her other hand wrapped around his throat. Not choking--claiming.

He bucked once. She slapped his thigh.

"Still."

Her pace changed--slower again, thumb circling the head, palm slick from her own arousal. He whimpered.

"I want you to feel it build. Right here. In your gut. In your balls. In your spine."

She stroked faster again. His breath turned ragged.

Then she stopped.

"Not tonight."

He nearly sobbed.

Raquel reached up and pulled the blindfold from his eyes.

He blinked against the light--and saw himself. Reflected in the window. Naked. Erect. Glowing. Her hand around his cock, her lips at his throat.

She smiled.

"You're beautiful like this," she whispered. "A body trembling at the edge of obedience."

Then she pressed a kiss to his temple and walked away.

He remained in the chair.

Hard. Wet. Unspent. Owned.

Chapter 16 -- The Mirror (Fully Expanded)

No blindfold tonight.

I want your eyes open.

You'll see everything. But you won't touch.

Not even yourself.

The message made Brandon's mouth go dry.

He didn't respond. He knew she didn't want a reply.

When he entered the guesthouse that evening, he noticed it immediately: the tall, gilded mirror had been moved. It now leaned at a sharp angle against the wall directly across from the center of the room, its reflection framed with candles. A low chaise had been pulled forward, covered in deep red velvet.

And in the center of the room: the restraints.

Two wide leather cuffs had been laid across a floor cushion, tethered to a metal ring embedded in the floorboards. The room was warm. Incense smoldered faintly on the windowsill. Outside, the world was dimming, the hush of twilight settling in.

Raquel stood nearby in a black silk robe, hair loose, no makeup. Bare feet. No jewelry. Her collarbone sharp. Her lips unreadable.

"Strip."

He did.

"Turn around. Hands behind your back."

He complied. She cuffed his wrists slowly--tight enough to remind him he couldn't slip out, but not tight enough to hurt. Her fingers brushed his skin longer than necessary as she tightened the last strap.

She stepped in front of him, then knelt. She looked at his cock--already hard, twitching. She leaned in, and he thought--he hoped--she might taste him.

Instead, she kissed the inside of his thigh. Then stood.

"Face the mirror," she said.

She led him to the cushion and eased him down. He knelt upright, arms behind his back, shoulders square.

What he saw made his whole body flush with heat.

His own reflection: naked, cock erect, wrists bound, chest rising and falling with each tremble. And behind him--Raquel, walking slowly, slipping her robe off one shoulder, then the other. Letting it fall.

She was completely nude.

The candlelight wrapped her like a second skin. She climbed onto the chaise slowly, spreading her legs wide, her eyes never leaving his in the mirror.

"I want you to watch," she said.

Then her fingers dipped between her thighs.

Brandon gasped as she moaned--loudly, deliberately. She circled her clit with two fingers, slow and wet, her head falling back. Her other hand cupped her breast, squeezed it, teased the nipple until it peaked.

His cock throbbed helplessly.

"You want this?" she asked, eyes gleaming in the mirror.

"Yes."

"You think you deserve it?"

"No."

"Correct."

She began to move faster, her hips rolling against her hand. Her thighs trembled. Her eyes closed.

Brandon's wrists strained behind him. He could smell her arousal--musk and salt, sweet and overwhelming. He tried not to rock forward, but his body wanted to follow her.

"You'll sit there," she panted, "and watch me come without you."

He whimpered.

"You'll feel it," she hissed. "But you won't have it."

Then she slipped two fingers inside herself and cried out.

Brandon watched as she fucked herself--rough, deep, animal. Her heels pressed to the velvet. Her hips lifted. Her body bucked. Her moans broke into wild, high-pitched cries.

He was leaking now--cum dribbling down his shaft, untouched. His whole body was clenched.

She came loudly, knees shaking, cunt pulsing around her fingers as she locked eyes with him in the mirror. He could see the spasms rock through her--raw, furious, blinding.

And he could do nothing.

When it passed, she lay back panting for a long moment.

Then she sat up.

Walked to him.

Stood behind him.

She leaned in and whispered at his ear:

"You're dripping."

"Yes," he choked.

"You still don't get to come."

She stepped in front of him, eyes cool.

"Look at yourself," she said.

He did.

"Look at what you've become. Mine. Denied. Gorgeous."

She reached down and tapped the head of his cock once--just enough to make him cry out.

Then she turned.

And left him there.

Alone, bound, and staring at the proof of his obedience.

Chapter 17 -- The Café Game

Wear something respectable.

Sit when I tell you.

Speak only when I permit.

You'll be full before we even leave the house.

Brandon stared at the final line of the message, his cock swelling with dread and need.

By now, he knew what "full" meant.

She greeted him at the door in a slate-gray slip dress that hugged every curve. Her breasts shifted slightly beneath the fabric--no bra--and the slit up her thigh made it impossible not to stare. Her hair was twisted up, her lips bare. Professional. Elegant. Utterly distracting.

"Come inside," she said. "Let's get you ready."

He obeyed.

Inside, she handed him a soft black plug--thicker than the last one she'd used--and a small vial of lube.

"In the bathroom. Two minutes."

He took a breath, walked to the mirror, and slid it in--slowly, steadily, biting his lip to keep from groaning. The moment it seated, his whole body tensed.

He returned to her flushed, leaking beneath his waistband.

"Good," she said, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Now keep your composure."

They walked together to a quiet café on the edge of downtown. Chic. Minimalist. Wide windows. Clean lines. Couples sipping wine and sharing charcuterie.

Raquel chose a two-top near the front. The seat faced the window. She made him take it.

It was angled just so--his reflection ghosted faintly in the glass. She knew.

They sat.

Waited.

Her heel slipped off beneath the table. Her foot found his calf, then drifted higher.

He stiffened.

The plug shifted.

"You're to sit still," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Back straight. Palms down. Eyes on me."

He nodded.

"Words."

"Yes, Raquel."

"Good."

She ordered for them both--fig toast, olives, sparkling rosé. He focused on breathing.

Then the real game began.

With each bite of food, she gave him a cue.

"Chew slowly," she whispered.

"Clench for me."

"Now hold."

"Do not blink."

The plug inside him pulsed with every tiny movement. His cock pressed hard against the inside of his pants. A bead of precum dampened his waistband.

She poured the wine and watched him.

"You're flushed," she said with a smile. "People will think you're nervous. Or hard for me."

He was.

"You want to be good?"

"Yes."

"Then you won't speak again until I let you. No matter what I do."

Her foot slid higher between his legs.

She pressed the arch of it between his thighs and rocked slowly, just enough to move the plug inside him. He fought to stay still, jaw clenched, hands shaking.

She smiled wider, sipped her wine.

"You're doing so well," she whispered. "But your cock is twitching against the tablecloth."

He glanced around. The café was full. No one was looking.

She leaned in.

"You're going to sit here," she said, "with my foot teasing you from below, and my voice in your ear, and my scent in your mouth--and you're not going to come."

He whimpered softly. She rewarded him by pressing harder.

For ten minutes, she continued--sliding her foot up and down, whispering things that made him sweat. When the dessert came, she dipped her fingers in the cream and licked them slowly, eyes locked on his.

"You want a taste?"

He nodded helplessly.

"Too bad."

She stood.

"Come," she said. "We're not finished."

Back at her place, she made him strip at the door. His cock sprang free--angry, desperate, leaking. She pushed him to his knees.

"Did you obey?"

"Yes."

"Did you spill?"

"No."

She reached down and slid her hand between his legs.

"You're soaked."

"I couldn't help it."

"You didn't come. That's what matters."

She pulled the plug out slowly. He nearly collapsed.

Then she kissed his forehead.

"You just passed your first public trial," she whispered. "But next time, the stakes will be higher."

Chapter 18 -- The Guest

Shower. Shave. Kneel at the cushion by 7:00.

Tonight, you'll be observed.

Touched.

But not claimed.

Brandon's heart thundered as he read it. His body responded immediately, as if summoned: hard, leaking, alert.

He followed every instruction with precision--shower, clean shave, linen robe. Nothing underneath. Onyx pendant gleaming against his chest.

By 6:58 PM, he was kneeling on the cushion in the center of Raquel's guesthouse, facing the flickering hearth, hands resting palm-up on his thighs. The room smelled of jasmine and heat. A second cushion had been placed to the side. A tray of wine and fruit sat untouched.

At exactly 7:01, he heard the soft click of the door.

Footsteps. Two sets.

Raquel entered first, calm and radiant in a black silk blouse tucked into a long, flowing skirt. Her hair was swept up, lips painted wine-dark. Following her was a woman--tall, statuesque, dressed in deep plum, with sharp eyes and a knowing smile. She looked like power incarnate. She didn't speak.

"This is Camille," Raquel said. "She's someone I trust. She's here to witness what I've shaped."

Camille circled him slowly, studying his posture, his form. He kept his head bowed.

"No speaking," Raquel added gently. "Not unless you're asked a direct question."

Camille crouched in front of him. Her hand reached out, lifted his chin. Brandon met her eyes. She smirked.

"He's beautiful," she murmured. "Is he always this... obedient?"

Raquel walked behind him and ran a finger down the back of his neck. "When I want him to be."

Camille leaned closer, her breath brushing his lips. "Does he know what I'm allowed to do tonight?"

"No," Raquel said, "but he knows what he's not allowed to do."

Camille stood and took a seat on the second cushion.

Raquel gave a small nod. "Hands behind your back."

He obeyed. She bound them with soft velvet rope--looping it precisely around his wrists and knotting it at the small of his back.

She turned to Camille. "Would you like to taste him?"

Brandon's heart stopped.

Camille smiled. "Yes. But only if he begs me not to make him come."

Raquel stepped back, arms crossed. "He'll behave."

Camille knelt in front of him again. She opened his robe slowly, exposing his chest, then his cock--already flushed and leaking, twitching from neglect.

She didn't touch it. Not yet.

She leaned forward and licked a slow stripe up his sternum. "Tell me, sweetheart... do you want my mouth?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"But you're not allowed to come?"

"No."

"Then you'd better behave."

She lowered her mouth to the head of his cock and flicked her tongue once--just enough to make him buck.

Raquel's voice cut in, sharp. "Still."

He froze.

Camille smirked. "Delicious."

Then she took him into her mouth.

Brandon gasped--loud, helpless. Her lips slid over the head, then farther. She took him deep, slow, then withdrew with a wet pop. She licked him again, then sucked the head--firm, steady.

His body shook with restraint.

Raquel stepped forward, one hand on his shoulder. "You feel how warm her mouth is?"

"Yes," he choked.

"You feel her tongue teasing you?"

"Yes--God--"

"You will not come."

Camille continued, this time faster, her hand gripping the base of his shaft as she worked him over with expert rhythm. Wet sounds filled the room. Brandon's thighs trembled.

"Raquel--please--"

"Not yet."

Camille hummed against him, then pulled off with a grin. "He's twitching."

"He's close," Raquel said. "Stop."

Camille obeyed instantly.

Brandon whimpered.

Raquel crouched beside him and kissed his neck. "You did well."

Then she looked at Camille. "One more minute. Hands only."

Camille nodded and wrapped her hand around him--stroking slowly, watching his face.

Raquel's hand slipped under his chin. "Eyes on me."

"Yes."

"Offer it to me. But don't let it go."

Brandon's body tensed. Camille stroked faster. Raquel whispered at his ear.

"You may not come. You may not come. You may not come."

He cried out--but held it.

Camille stopped.

Brandon collapsed forward, gasping, cock twitching but untouched, unsatisfied.

Raquel kissed his forehead.

"You pleased me," she whispered.

Then, to Camille: "Next time, we'll let him show you how he begs."

Chapter 19 -- The Stage

The message had no greeting. Only instructions.

You'll be blindfolded before we arrive.

You'll not speak unless given permission.

You'll not come, no matter what your body begs.

Tonight, you are our stage.

Brandon's hands trembled as he pulled on the softest linen pants he owned--no underwear beneath. His cock was already hard, already leaking at the tip. He fastened the onyx pendant around his neck and knelt on the floor of his room, waiting.

When the car arrived, Raquel said nothing. Camille was already inside.

Raquel pressed a blindfold into his hands.

"Put it on."

He did.

For the entire ride, neither woman spoke to him. But the scent of them--spiced skin, perfume, arousal--wrapped around him like silk. His cock twitched with every bump in the road.

When they arrived, they led him through an echoing hallway, then into a room cooled by unseen vents. Soft music played somewhere behind the walls. Carpeted floors. Velvet-wrapped seats. A private theater.

He was guided to a wide reclining lounge chair.

Raquel's voice, low at his ear: "Hands behind the headrest."

He obeyed.

Cool leather restraints tightened around his wrists, holding him upright. His blindfold stayed in place.

He could hear their footsteps around him. The shifting of fabric. Laughter. Whispered things he couldn't parse.

Then Camille's voice, syrup-smooth: "Do you even know where you are, pretty thing?"

"No," he whispered.

Raquel: "Good. Then you'll have to feel instead of see."

Fingers slid into his waistband. He gasped.

The linen was pulled down, slow and humiliating. His cock sprang free--hard, dripping, waiting.

"Look at this," Camille purred. "Absolutely desperate."

Raquel's voice from his other side: "Hold still."

Then--warmth.

Lips closed around the head of his cock. A soft hum vibrated down his shaft.

He nearly cried out.

He didn't know who it was. Raquel? Camille?

Whoever it was, she knew what she was doing. The suction was firm, the rhythm slow, cruel. She pulled back, licked the tip, then took him deeper. His cock pulsed in her throat.

Then she stopped.

"Did you think that was it?" Raquel asked.

He barely had time to breathe before another mouth took him.

This one was wetter, faster. A tongue teased his slit, swirled around the head, then down the shaft. His hips lifted--then two sharp nails dug into his thighs.

"Still," Camille snapped.

The mouth kept working him, then pulled off with a pop.

"He's soaked," she whispered. "We haven't even started."

Raquel's voice, now at his ear: "You don't know which of us is using you. You're just a cock to be shared."

He groaned.

"You like not knowing, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You like being used?"

"Yes. Please--"

"Shhh."

He felt lips on his neck. Then one of them straddled his lap. Her slick heat hovered over his cock but didn't take it in. Instead, she rocked forward, grinding her pussy against his shaft, smearing wetness along the length of him.

"I could fuck you right now," she whispered. "Slide down and ride you until you sob."

Then she moved away.

The other woman knelt again. Took him into her throat. This time deeper.

He nearly screamed.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the room--sucking, moaning, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. Then hands joined: one cupping his balls, another teasing the base.

"You feel that?" Raquel whispered. "Two mouths on your cock. And still you may not come."

His breath came ragged.

Another mouth. Another rhythm. Someone swirled their tongue around the head and then kissed it sweetly.

"You don't know who's worshipping you," Camille said. "And you don't need to."

Then both women took turns--lapping, kissing, licking--passing him back and forth like an object. Every time he bucked, a hand pinned him down.

He was sweating. Trembling. Crying out softly.

"Don't come," Raquel said again, her hand circling his cock at the base. "You'll ruin everything."

And then--they both stopped.

He whimpered. His cock stood throbbing in the dark, slick and twitching.

Someone leaned in and kissed the crown of it. Another tongue licked the inside of his thigh.

Then silence.

Only his panting breath and the distant hum of the projector.

Raquel's voice, low and final:

"You've been tasted. You've been used. But you haven't been taken. Not yet."

She kissed the inside of his knee.

"You'll go home full. Again."

"You'll think about our mouths."

"You'll remember what it's like to be unknown, unseen... and still owned."

They untied him.

Pulled his pants up.

Left the blindfold on.

And led him out.

Chapter 20 -- The Threshold

The message came late.

Tonight, you lead.

I will obey, but only if you earn it.

You are not to perform. You are to command.

Make me feel you without touching me first.

Brandon stared at the screen, stunned.

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, the room still carrying the scent of his last encounter with her--salt, sweat, arousal, frustration. His cock twitched at the memory of Camille's mouth, of Raquel's voice in the dark theater.

He hadn't come since.

He thought of all the times he had knelt before her, aching. All the times he'd offered his body without asking for anything in return.

Now, she wanted him to lead.

Not dominate. Not take.

Command.

When he arrived, the guesthouse was silent. Dimly lit with only two tall candles at opposite ends of the room. The floor had been cleared. No restraints. No cushions. Just Raquel--standing barefoot in a soft slate-gray robe that hung open at the front, exposing the valley between her breasts.

Her eyes were soft. Watchful.

"Close the door," she said.

He did.

Then she stepped back and knelt. Without a word.

Her hands rested loosely on her thighs. Her head was bowed.

Waiting.

He froze.

This woman--his teacher, tormentor, goddess--was kneeling for him.

"Come here," he said.

She looked up.

There was a flicker in her gaze: curiosity, challenge... and submission.

He walked slowly toward her, the onyx pendant tapping against his bare chest. His linen pants were loose, his feet silent.

When he stopped in front of her, she remained kneeling.

"I want you to take off your robe," he said quietly.

Her hands moved without hesitation. The robe slid from her shoulders and fell around her knees. She was nude, perfect, glowing in candlelight.

"Stand," he said.

She rose.

"Hands behind your back."

She obeyed.

He circled her slowly, breathing in her scent. His cock hardened at the control pulsing in his limbs--earned, not taken.

"You want to be used tonight?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "By you."

"Then you'll listen. Every word. Every silence."

"I will."

He stepped in front of her. Raised a hand. And stopped just short of touching her face.

"You don't get my hands yet," he said. "Not until I believe you deserve them."

A flush colored her chest.

"You'll show me with your body."

He walked backward and sat in the center of the room, cross-legged.

"Come here."

She knelt before him.

"Straddle me," he said. "Don't touch. Don't grind. Just hover."

She moved slowly, carefully, until her wet heat hovered just an inch above his cock. The scent of her made his jaw tighten. He didn't move.

"Good," he whispered.

She trembled above him.

"I want you to feel how much power is in stillness," he said. "In holding yourself back."

He raised his eyes. "You taught me that. Now show me you can do the same."

She nodded, body shaking.

Minutes passed. Sweat gathered at her temples. Her thighs trembled. Her arousal dripped onto his shaft.

"You want to be touched?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You want to be fucked?"

"Yes."

"You want my cock buried in you until you cry?"

"Please," she whispered.

He lifted his hand. Rested it lightly on her hip.

Her entire body jolted at the contact.

"Not yet."

He moved his thumb, slowly tracing the curve of her waist.

"You don't get to come until you feel what it's like to be on the edge for someone else."

She whimpered.

He cupped her cheek.

Then leaned in.

And kissed her.

Not gently.

Not hungrily.

But commandingly--full mouth, steady breath, firm grip.

When he pulled away, she was breathless. Shaking.

"You'll come when I say," he said.

She nodded.

"And you'll learn what it means to be mine next."