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</div>Steel gray eyes locked fixated upon the perfect face in front of him. Brigitte's expression animated at every lurid movement the Mistress made behind her. She was being fucked right in front of him, ostensibly a last demonstration of minor cuckoldry. But the seat could not be surpassed, and Sterling marveled at each minute and cumulative contortion of Brigitte's facial expression: her eyes glazing over, her eyebrows arching, her jaw slackening, her<a class="link link--external" href="https://i.imgur.com/lhcrGaN.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">posture weakening</a>when the Mistress's strap-on hit home in ways that reminded the submissive why she belonged to her goddess.<br/><br/>A clear message was being sent to Sterling, one that came with planning and inculcation. Mistress Minny, though willing, was not obliged to surrender the woman who meant the world to her. The meaning inherent in the spectacle before Sterling had been orchestrated for the sole intent, not of hand-off, but exhibition. What was exhibited had nothing to do with parading her skill as a dominant bitch extraordinaire, having more to do with defining precisely how what would be his to use was not his at all. Not even a little--not even close.<br/><br/><br/>The desire for Brigitte had been cultivated in Sterling by the Mistress over some time, several weeks to be specific. It began with a simple photo, one that took the man's  breath away. He couldn't function, unable to command himself as he stared catatonic at the vision of feminine beauty. So many women preened themselves with ideas of "beauty" that apprehending Brigitte's pure vision struck Sterling like chain lightning. It did not surprise him to learn that Brigitte was French, as she seemed to epitomize the cultural ethos of flaunting what you are and owning it with confident flair.<br/><br/>Needless to say, Sterling found himself both beheld and beholden to the erotic spectacle playing out inches from his face. Mistress had hinted at what might happen, demanding that he be seated and remain in place at all times. Her edicts made it all too clear that she wanted to control him as she decided how to use the woman who had caused feelings to flush in the jaded businessman's heart. The Mistress was both cruel and deluded, dangling her<i>Chaton </i>like a lure for an ignorant beast yet dictating how he could consumer her. Sterling was all too aware that, while in that hotel room, Brigitte remained on a string tied to a stick--to be yanked out of reach by the Mistress.<br/><br/>But, Sterling was a patient man. He knew that the night would ultimately be his and the string, while uncut, would be given innumerable miles of slack that made micro-management practically unfeasible. Oversight, yes; however, the exhibition almost reeked of a desperation steeped in the sadness of losing the company and daily control of her soulmate.<br/><br/>Sterling Remington was nothing if not an empathetic man; he knew all too well the linger pain of loss. He had embraced that darkness years ago, but it fueled his unearthly, smoldering presence and unbreakable confidence. Whatever does not kill you makes you stronger--or, so the saying goes. The only pain on Sterling's mind was the curl of Brigitte's nails into the sides of his palms, transferring or conveying her escalating pleasure into a distribution dynamic--making the dominant who normally wielded punitive action to be the recipient of discomfort as a price to pay for access.<i>Well played, Minny</i>. In spite of the irritation that would have his hands tingling all the next day, the phenomena of (more than simply watching, but)<i>feeling </i>the energy Brigitte radiated while in the throes of orgasmic bliss left Sterling in a state of rapture. Sterling wanted her; he wanted to be the one to make Brigitte feel the pleasure of extreme, sexual deviance.<br/><br/>When Brigitte came, Sterling slowly righted his posture plumb, his steely gaze intent in absorbing every micro-second of the divine majesty before him. She would feel Sterling's hand tremble slightly, feel the effect of witnessing her climax had upon him. Some dominants preferred the casual freedom of anonymity, but Sterling drew his lineage from those dominants who felt it critical to know their charges with profound familiarity. Brigitte felt like an open portal to a world he'd scarcely believed possible, and his heart accelerated rapidly and the excitement in his gut swirled when the French woman's eyes were forced to regard him post-orgasm.<br/><br/>Those eyes--dark and erotic, inviting yet shielded in confidence. Sterling wanted to be in those pool of dark brown; he wanted to be what was desired when they came to life and twinkled with sexual magic. His face was close to hers, mere inches, and Sterling could almost taste her breath as she panted against the clink of her metal link leash being pulled taut.<br/><br/>"Amazing ...," he reiterated in a whisper of disbelief.