The Best of Kay Jaybee (3 page)

‘In a few minutes, I'm going to unlock your hands.' Ali flicked the end of the whip at the small keys hanging from the ribbon. ‘Even though you will be technically free, you will not move your arms unless I grant you permission.'

His Adam's apple wobbled as he inclined his head in agreement, his eyes never leaving her chest.

Ali undid the cuffs, and Rick automatically gripped his palms together. The hunger on his face was inescapable, and as much as Ali was enjoying dominating her fantasy fuck, her own body needed her to end this very soon.

Dropping her shirt to the floor, Ali locked her gaze on to Rick's, who was still resolutely staring at her breasts. Resting the cane on the bed, Ali brought her hands to her teats, twirling her taut nipples between her fingers, knowing she was making him more and more frustrated.

He was licking his lips and the subtle shake of his shoulders told her that he was struggling to keep his hands where they were.

‘You want to hold these, don't you?' She continued to manipulate her breasts for a second, as he clamped his lips together in his effort not to respond. ‘How about down here?' Ali inched her hands south, caressing his own flesh as she went, before teasing the waistband to her knickers, and, with her eyes flashing at him, Ali eased the satin fabric down her legs with amazing stealth.

Stepping away from her underwear, Ali retrieved the cane and knelt before her prisoner. ‘How badly?' She traced the cane over the very end of his shaft, trying not to think how badly she wanted to fuck him, only how much she was loving making him wait, ‘Do you want to touch me here?' Ali danced the crop from his dick to between her parted legs.

Rick's gaze was torn from her chest, as he followed the route of the weapon's movement with a desperate fascination, his body radiating waves of longing as the short white weapon disappeared between Ali's legs.

No longer holding back, Ali let him see just how much she was relishing the feel of the thin wand as she pumped it in and out of her channel. Without revealing how annoyingly slim she found the length, Ali writhed around it, unable to contain the genuine sighs of pleasure that had gathered in her throat.

Continuing to work herself off on the cane, her left hand came back to her breasts, and a contented mewling escaped her lips.

It was the noise that broke him, the sound of her imminent climax.

His hands shot to her chest, knocking Ali's hands away. A deep, almost animal groan emerged from him, as Ali's expression creased into fake displeasure. Wiping the cane from between her legs, she smacked the wet tool against his rump.

Rick yelled out, but didn't stop working his large calloused hands over her chest.

Stepping nearer, Ali hastily undid the other key from the neck ribbon, and reluctantly moved away from his massaging fingers long enough to unlock his ankles.

‘On the bed!' There was no mistaking the order in her voice. Rick stumbled backwards, his stiff legs opening as he fell onto the soft cream duvet. ‘Hands above your head.'

Trapping both his wrists under the left hand, Ali pressed down on his arms with all her weight, ‘Don't move!' She grabbed a condom from the collection she'd seen in Claire's knicker drawer and rolled it in place before impaling herself onto his wood.

Rick's hips were halted in mid thrust, reluctantly falling back as Ali took up the cane once more, aiming it at the short letters she'd written to Claire; each individual episode of lust.

With every hit to his hard torso Ali plunged at his groin, sparking the nerves in her body to directly between her legs.

Staring into the eyes of the unresisting man beneath her, his every pore issuing forth signals of lust, the sheer power-driven intensity of the situation hit Ali all at once, and the climax she'd held in check exploded through her. Silver sparks flashed in her brain as she spasmed relentlessly against her best friend's boyfriend. Unbidden, unable to prevent himself, Rick's back arched beneath her, and his cock spunked with a velocity that filled Ali in seconds.

Flushed, Ali readopted her mistress poise, ‘I don't believe I told you to come?'

Rick opened his mouth to protest, but again he said nothing.

Climbing off him, Ali held up her hand, indicating that he should stay exactly where he was. His eyes remained fixed on her as she gathered together her clothes, and headed towards the door. Then, having second thoughts, she returned to the bed, picked up the leather cuffs, and re-secured his wrists to the bed frame. ‘I think Claire should be informed of your inability to wait until you're told before you come.'

Retrieving the pen, Ali sat astride his chest, and placing the biro against his face, wrote,

‘
Dear Claire,

Rick needs further punishment,

Love Ali.'

Bastet

Before he got the job behind the scenes at the museum, he had imagined that the place would be dusty, dark and perhaps, considering the contents of the room, eerie. This was not the case. These carefully collected items had finished their time amongst the dust and now lived in a spotless, sanitised environment. The lighting was just bright enough to be able to work by, yet not bright enough to damage the precious remains. There were only two things that he found mildly uncomfortable about the working conditions; the first was the temperature, a constant tepid, which was too hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. The second was his boss.

He was aware that she often watched him. If they'd worked anywhere else, then perhaps he would have been worried about what their colleagues would think, but here it was just the two of them. Just him, his boss, an open stone sarcophagus, two mummies in the final preparations of being made ready for display, several priceless bronze statutes, some chipped but irreplaceable Canopic jars, and drawer after drawer of miniature Egyptian statues; votive offerings to the Ancient dead.

There was something very cat-like about his senior colleague. She was as tall as he was, slim, but with a hardness about her; she had slick black hair, which swung from side to side as her feline body moved around the room. No, that was wrong, she didn't move, she slunk, she glided. Her eyes, a brilliant green, were wide, shiny, and always accentuated by heavy black kohl. At first he'd wondered if she used false colour contacts, but had a feeling she probably didn't. Perhaps she'd always been like this, or maybe ten years amongst Egyptian paraphernalia had turned her into a living representation of the cats that ancient race venerated so highly.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and concentrated on carefully revealing the latest object to be leant to the museum for the forthcoming ‘Ancient Death' exhibition, before he could head home. A mountain of polystyrene chips quickly removed, he donned a pair of thin medical gloves to pull out the hidden contents of the crate.

As he bent to put his hands carefully around the unknown item, he could feel her behind him. She never made any noise when she moved, but he knew that she was there by the warm breath that now tickled the back of his neck. Ignoring her, and the rather confusing and frustrating semi-aroused state her presence seemed to keep him in, he carefully uncovered the muslin clothes that provided the exhibit's final layer of protection.

They both gasped in wonder as he revealed the beautiful treasure that lay before them. Carved from wood, its paint faded, but not gone, a death mask stared back at them. He'd never seen anything like it, for it was not the mask of a boy or a man, but of a cat. Human sized, the mask represented the cat goddess, Bastet.

His boss stretched out a thin-gloved hand and stroked the mask with a single finger, before sliding her body in front of his. Audibly holding her breath, she took a firm hold of the artefact with both hands and heaved, releasing it fully from the travelling box. It was perfect. Light but sturdy, its back strap complete, a priceless tribute to a forgotten goddess.

Despite knowing a great deal about Ancient Egypt, but for the fact that cats were sacred to them, he knew few details about their feline obsession. His boss, her chest visibly heaving beneath her black, skin-tight top, began to whisper in awe, half talking to him, half to the mask itself.

‘I've seen smaller versions of these in bronze, and I know that wooden cat coffins were regularly made, many hundreds were found at Bubastis, the biggest centre of cat worship, but I've never seen ...' Her husky voice trailed off and her eyes sparkled. This object, this rare find was actually turning her on; he could see her nipples poke out and harden beneath her top as she handled the rare find.

Even before she did it, he knew what was going to happen next. He turned so he could watch her as, with an uncharacteristic disregard for preservation, she placed the mask over her head, trapping her sleek hair beneath its wooden strap. Dropping to her knees, she purred around his feet, rubbing her arched back against his legs as if she was a cat showing affection.

His mouth went dry. Common sense told him that the situation was insane, but curiosity and the erection that dug against the side of his trousers, told him that he needed to see what she'd do next.

She stood and, from beneath the mask, commanded him to remain exactly where he was. He didn't move as she prowled over to the large cupboard at the back of the room. When she reappeared a few moments later, she was naked but for the mask. Gulping at the sight of the firm flesh about which he'd often fantasized he stared. She seemed to glow as she stalked towards him, her prey, every inch the cat goddess. The living Bastet.

He felt clumsy, unworthy and, at a signal from his boss, he knelt before her, humbled and wanting. It no longer felt mad, just incredibly sexy.

She circled around him three times, muttering words he didn't understand, his eyes following her, his lips now moist, hungry to feast on this extraordinary figure.

‘Follow,' she commanded as she walked away from him, towards the large wooden table they used to examine, preserve and analyse the historical artefacts that came their way. He went to stand, but a sharp gesture from her hand made it clear that he was supposed to crawl after her.

This was so new to him; he'd never subjugated himself before a woman, before anyone. It felt strange, suffocating, and belittling, yet at the same time, oddly liberating, as if the pressure of taking control and ensuring the woman's pleasure had been lifted from his shoulders.

He reached the area of the polished tile floor by the table and waited, subservient. She crouched down and tilted his head up with a single finger so he could observe her. Her bronzed skin shone with a gloss that radiated under the artificial lights. Her hands, their slim fingers topped off with turquoise nail varnish, began to fondle her breasts and caress her torso, stopping short of her neatly trimmed pussy hair, she teased herself as well as her waiting slave.

With an effort, made plain by the whimper the mask failed to hide, she halted her self-stimulation and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Dog, you will serve me.'

Dog? He was a dog?
It hadn't occurred to him, but surely dogs had been powerful gods in Egypt as well, Anubis for example. Then he remembered, even the God of the Dead could not harm a living cat. For a split second he decided he didn't want to play her bizarre game anymore, but then she changed his mind.

Climbing astride his back, she lowered her naked buttocks against his thin cotton shirt. The weight of her, the stickiness of her damp slit, made his erection dig harder against his thigh.

‘Walk!' It was an order, a royal command, and he walked.

Moving slowly, adjusting himself so he could more easily support her weight, he paraded so that Bastet, Queen of Cats, could lord it around the room of treasures.

He could smell her – she reeked of sex and power – and he was desperate to be able to taste the source of that aroma. As if sensing his growing desire to break away and hold her, Bastet climbed off his back and ordered him to strip. He hesitated for a second, wishing he could see her shrouded eyes.

She didn't appreciate the wait, her voice hissed cat-like, cracking through the hushed air like a whip, ‘When I tell you to do something, you do it.
Now strip
.' Her pointed finger hovered inches from his face. He stripped.

His clothes bunched at his feet, she kicked them away and stood before him. Possibly she was examining him through the mask's narrow eye slits, he couldn't be sure, but there was something rather unnerving about the way the expressionless cat face seemed to be weighing him up.

Approaching his bulky nude frame, she stood just close enough for his cock to brush the side of her leg. The minor sensation of touch felt incredible, and it took all his strength of will not to grab her around the waist and throw her onto the table. It was therefore with a sense of surprise that he saw her climb gracefully onto the table herself, lay face down, and silently pointing to a small bottle on her nearby desk. He understood her unspoken instruction and collected the glass vial. Reading the label he saw that it was scented embalming oil. He opened his mouth to protest, but she got in first.

‘You will rub it into my skin. You will rub it all over me.'

Inclining his head, he unstopped the bottle. Pouring a tiny amount onto his hands, he began to work the liquid across her back. His hands, pale from too much time indoors, relished the feel of her toned body beneath his touch. She groaned quietly into her mask as he proceeded to oil her back, pausing every now and again to admire the view. Reaching her arse, he had no qualms about making the lubrication thorough. Running a single digit between her butt-crack, he heard her gasp as he pushed down further, greasing the rim of her anus, and then, parting her legs, he oiled inside her back passage.

She moaned audibly now, squirming against his intimate touch, but she didn't command him to stop. Fighting the urge to replace his finger with his dick, he pulled it out, making her whimper with loss, before he oiled her legs and feet. Once complete, he turned her over and, with his heart beating loudly in his chest, began to sprinkle liquid across her breasts. As each droplet hit her skin, the cat goddess flinched, concentrating on not begging her slave to fuck her senseless.

His hands took a breast in each palm and kneaded them hard, relieving some of the frustration he felt in not receiving stimulation of his own. She was obviously finding it difficult to keep still now, and he imagined that her eyes were probably tight shut in concentration beneath the wooden mask. He proceeded to her stomach, but skipped over her expectant pussy, making her body tense as he slid his palms over her thighs instead.

Soon though, he could wait no longer, and began to grease his hands over her clit, anointing her stiff nub with a light touch. Instantly her hips lifted off the table in response. Slipping his finger lower he realised that there was no need to oil her there as her own juices had done the job for him. But he'd had his orders, and he continued to obey, by pushing an oiled finger up inside her. She clenched her muscles around his digit, and swiftly climaxed against the table.

He watched in wonder, his fingers still sliding in and out of her, as she came against his hand.

After a while she spoke, ‘You have done well, my slave. Now the bandages.' She pointed to a pile of linen strips boxed neatly in the corner of the room. They'd used them many times at conferences to show how mummies were bound, but never on each other. He didn't move. Suddenly everything fell into place, the procession, the anointing – she wanted him to mummify her.

Cutting through his thoughts, she yelled from beneath the pale yellow cat mask, ‘Your Goddess has ordered you, you will be rewarded.'

He was desperate for her. He fetched the linen strips.

Starting with her right hand, he wrapped up each finger individually, then taking a length of linen, as the ancients would have done, he began wrapping her right shoulder across to her left, avoiding her neck and the mask that seemed to stare at him as he moved. Next he did her toes, one by one. It was strangely satisfying as he wound the bindings over her feet and around her slim ankles.

Breaking off from her legs, he moved to her chest. Beginning by looping the material around her pert tits, he continued circling them until only the very tips of her nipples were exposed. He couldn't hold back any longer and, without waiting for permission, he leant down and began to lick at the exposed tops. She purred beneath his touch and, rather than ordering him to stop, she raised her hips in encouragement. He needed no further signal, and lowered his mouth, clamping it around her bandage-free pussy.

She tasted of salt and sweetness as the oil mingled with her sex juice. His Goddess began to purr louder, mewing in short, satisfied bursts. Again he took this as an invitation to continue and, stopping only to rummage in his jacket pocket for a condom, he jumped on top of her semi-bound frame and pushed his sheathed erection into her oil-scented body. Doing his best to maintain the mood of her game, he cried out as he pumped against her, ‘An offering to my Goddess.'

She responded breathlessly, ‘Thank you, my slave.'

Finally spent, he slid off her and kissed his boss between the legs until she came again, juddering in spasms against the hard surface. Then taking up the remaining linen, he continued his work, until, an hour later, her body was bound, her arms and legs clamped together, her mask still over her otherwise free head and neck. Totally helpless to his whims, and yet somehow still in control, she spoke. ‘The sarcophagus.'

He no longer queried her commands, and lifted her bodily across to the open stone coffin. He laid her inside and stood looking down at her. His cock leapt back to life as he watched, imagining exactly what they'd do together when Bastet was ready to be unwrapped.