Broken Record

Chapter 22: Benton

It had been almost a year since Benton had been this eager for an appointment at The Den. After a string of lackluster sessions, he'd worried that his outlet was no longer working and that he'd have to find a new way to control his urges. But Stevie was like a bright, pixie-sized glimmer of hope, allowing him to stick to his much needed routine. He ducked into the back entrance of the building, fingering the platinum card in his slacks pocket. He hadn't seen her since he practically accosted her in the hallway outside of her and Aero's studio. He believed Stevie to be telling the truth when she said nothing was going on between them. Benton prided himself on being able to catch a liar. He'd been in more dealings with scam artists and corporate devils than most people faced in multiple lifetimes. The two of them made sense together though. Stevie and Aero. Both punks, both artistic. Both embodying their fuck-the-man attitudes. Benton was the man. The corporate zealot. The business titan. It shouldn't bother him that Stevie made more sense with Aero. But it did. And he planned on taking out that annoyance tonight.

As he fit himself into the 1920's elevator that was barely wide enough for his broad shoulders, his blood was already rushing to his groin. He prayed that Stevie was on fucking time, already waiting obediently for him on the table. He stifled a groan at the image, hoping she'd also ditched the black wig this time.

He charged down the hallway, his body more anxious and wired than it had been in years. He swiped his platinum card, the door unlocking. As he entered, a dim light was on in the room and he could make out Stevie's petite silhouette, her hips leaning against the padded table as she stared at the wall. She turned abruptly when he entered, her long blonde hair falling well past her shoulders, brushing the tops of her hips. Her makeup was subtle, like she wore in the office, her eyes big and expectant.

"Lay down." Stevie blinked a few times at his demand, opening her mouth like she wanted to say something. But instead she closed it, moving to lay on the table, her combat boots contrasting with her skintight blood red dress. I could have fun with those, Benton thought, as he draped his sports coat over the back of a leather recliner, rolling up his sleeves. The entire thing was a complex set of steps, a dance routine, each element building anticipation and the promise of pleasure. But unlike last time, Benton felt rushed. Knowing it was Stevie, knowing she wanted to be here and do this with him had him calling on all of his self-restraint to avoid unzipping his pants and burying himself in her before he even had a chance to tie her up properly,

"On your back this time." Stevie looked up over her shoulder, quickly moving over onto her back. She laid back, her body stiff. Benton stifled a chuckle at her diligence, his hands itching to touch her skin. He grabbed a loop of thinner rope from the cabinet, a kind that was known to leave deeper marks.

"Sit up on your elbows," Benton's voice had a slight shake to it, his eyes roaming Stevie's body as she complied with his demand, "and spread your legs." Benton's voice was impossibly low as Stevie slowly spread her legs, unsure of her movements, her eyes wild.

"I like these, but for what I have in mind they're going to have to go." Benton bent over and started to unlace one of Stevie's combat boots. Her hand reached out to start untying her other boot but Benton grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Hands on the pad." Stevie inhaled sharply, slowly moving her hand back and gripping the edge of the padded table so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Benton had to look away from her face, focusing on her now-bare ankles. His hands moved dexterously, the rhythm of the routine overtaking him as he wrapped each ankle in rope, pulling tightly as he tied Stevie's legs to the table.

"Woah." Stevie let out a whoosh of air, her ass sliding forward as Benton secured each ankle. Benton looked up and smirked before returning to his work, adding in another knot so that Stevie's legs would be effectively immobile, a sliver of bright pink between her legs pooling blood in his groin. What was it with this girl and her bright underwear collection? Definitely a new allure for Benton that he'd never cared much about before.

Benton wound another length of rope around his thick wrists, standing between Stevie's spread legs. Her chest was rising sharply. A lovely pink flush covered the skin on her chest and neck. Benton wanted to lick her along that blush line, nip and bite until it left a mark. But he held himself back, breathing heavily as he hovered over closer to her, the floral scent of her hair filling his nostrils. He leaned over with his lips by her temple, tying her left wrist to the table. He felt his hand shake, his arousal growing painfully harder as he leaned over to do the same loop on her right wrist. After finishing, Benton leaned back taking in his work. Stevie was completely and entirely at his mercy, her skin already pinking around the restraints.

"Pull." Benton licked his lips, his eyes heating. Stevie's perfect red mouth popped open.

"Wh-what?"

"Against your restraints. Pull as hard as you can." Stevie tried to shift, her ass just sliding forward an inch, her body immobilized. She bit down hard on her full bottom lip as she pulled, her small body still strong, her willingness to inch toward the pain even stronger. Benton bit back a growl.

"Good girl." Stevie's flush grew darker, her pleasure at hearing Benton's satisfaction written all over her face. Literally. Benton wanted to say something. Tell her how beautiful she looked. That she was perfect. Her body, her reaction, the eager look on her face. But he swallowed the words down. When he talked in these sessions, it was instructions only. No fillers. No emotions. No noise. Just demands. Usually he didn't have to remind himself of his own rules but with Stevie he found himself having too.

He slid his hand up the inside of one of her legs, dragging along the strong definition of her calf before reaching the inside of her knee. Stevie bit down on her lip again, pulling against her constraints, desperate to move. Fucking perfect, Benton breathed out quietly, so quietly he wondered if Stevie could even hear.

His hand moved up over her thigh, smoothing and gripping as he went. He brushed his fingers over her hot pink lace, teasing her, before moving to the other thigh. He heard her whimper and this time let the groan escape past his lips. He wanted to be inside of her already, but he wanted to savor her while he could. Benton gripped the insides of her thighs, one in each hand, pushing them impossibly further, his cock straining against his zipper as Stevie let out a small cry, the sound of pleasure and pain perfectly combined.

"Ben--Mr. X," Stevie stopped herself, her chest nearly heaving. She tried to move her thighs together, seeking friction.

"Yes?" Benton taunted her, ghosting the pass of his hands over her underwear. He usually didn't give into this kind of banter, but with Stevie, he craved it.

"Touch me." Stevie's voice contained strength, feminine frustration, sexual tension. Benton smiled with full-teeth, not holding anything back.