The Dom Project by Heloise Belleau, Solace Ames Page B

the tight ring of her asshole drawing it in as she automatically clenched. This isn’t dirty. This is beautiful , she told herself. Or else it’s both. One and the same.
    The base with its little crystal was right there —a constant, insistent reminder of what she’d just done to herself—but it wasn’t uncomfortable. She reached around her, gently fingering the cool crystal, tracing her fingertips along the edges of its facets, following some indiscernible pattern. She wondered how it must look. If he would photograph her in it. Probably. He could have chosen something functional, with more and better features, for the same price, but he’d picked something specifically ornamental.
    The vibrator too. Smooth and luxurious and minimalist in its styling, it was an alluring object, and the same red as the gem now nestled half-hidden in her ass.
    She rose on to her left elbow, stroked between her legs with her right hand...and knew she wouldn’t need any lubricant for the vibrator. No hesitancy. She sat up on the edge of the bed, knees spread, cradled it in her palm and slid it into place: one arm of the U curled inside her sex, and the other thrust up between her labia to cover her clit. The whole thing seemed to cup her supportively, like she imagined John’s hand would, if he reached between her legs from the front and nudged two fingers into her and just held her. Such a wonderful, possessive touch—had he purchased this toy specifically to mimic it?
    She slid off the bed and walked to the dresser very slowly, palms on her hips, legs pressed tightly together. Every step was a chord combining multiple new sensations. The unyielding plug, shifting and rolling. The silicone clinging and cupping, enough pressure to tease but not even begin to satisfy.
    With shaky hands, she pulled on her red satin panties, fastened her matching bra and slipped into her heels. She took one last look in the mirror to check her makeup: a touch of dark eye shadow and lip gloss, none of it smeared.
    Stepping in the heels felt insanely wrong, like she was about to fall over any second to compensate for the delicious, invading pressure. She tried to reassure herself. It’s all right if I wobble. He’ll think it’s sexy. Which made her wonder what exactly John got out of this, especially after she was gone and he was alone with his memories, his photos...
    Well then, she’d give him some good ones.
    She opened the door and stepped out.
    * * *
    Seeing her was like a punch to the gut. Shy, but determined, and for the first time unsteady on her heels. She’d dressed as requested in deep bloodred lingerie, not lace this time, but soft, touchable-looking satin. And her shoes, too, red and glossy like candy apples. Oddly enough, it was her hands that excited him the most, how she held them out to either side as if she were walking a tightrope, fingers delicately spread apart. All the tension in her body seemed to be curling and trembling there.
    “Y—” he started, then had to clear his throat. “You’re going to want to move over to that area where I laid out the carpet.”
    His floors were hardwood throughout, but for today he’d put out a plush floor rug, and hidden underneath it a folded duvet, for cushioning.
    “Yes, sir.”
    God, he could come just hearing her say that.
    He reached as inconspicuously as possible into his front jeans pocket, although truth be told the discretion wasn’t necessary. She was too focused on trying to walk to notice anything else. As soon as she’d reached the carpeted area, her metal spike heels swallowed by the off-white shag, his fingers found the remote wedged into his pocket. Without warning her, he pressed it.
    “Jesus!” she shouted, voice a couple of octaves higher than usual, and clutched the front of her panties. Staggered. Fell to her knees.
    What he wouldn’t give to come up behind her and bend her forward, until he had her beautiful stunned face shoved into the carpet, her ass up for him