by Lila Dubois
“No.” Alexander’s voice was cool and clipped.
The fine hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end as his warm hand settled on the small of her back. All the feelings of not-belonging, of being unworthy, faded the minute he touched her.
Stupid, Magdalena. Very stupid.
Rolf’s attention shifted from her to Alexander and back. Alexander’s hand on her naked body grounded her in the moment, the past and future both muted. She could feel the tension between them and Alena indulged in a brief fantasy of them fighting over her.
It was just fantasy, of course. She wasn’t a prize to be won. But she also wouldn’t object to seeing the men stripped down, oiled up, and wrestling.
The fact that she hadn’t yet seen Alexander naked was clearly messing with her mind.
Alena shifted ever so slightly, just enough so that her arm and shoulder brushed against Alexander.
He’d been able to read her body language last night. Would he understand this message as well?
I choose you. I want you.
Her movements, small though they had been, broke the men’s stalemate. Rolf glanced at her and smiled. “A pleasure, Alena. Until next time.”
“No,” her quiet man said again.
“No?” Rolf asked.
“No.” Alexander plucked the glass from her hand and passed it to the server, who nodded and finally walked away.
Rolf murmured, “We will see.”
Alexander watched Rolf walk away, then to her surprise, Alexander exchanged nods with Solomon.
Alena spun to face Alexander, prepared to set him straight if he accused her of soliciting the other Dom’s attention.
But when she looked at him, Alena’s mind went blank and her libido started howling with approval.
Alexander hadn’t just gotten his kit. He’d changed clothes.
Now he wore Dom leathers. He’d gone from handsome corporate shark to dangerously sexy biker Dom.
The button down shirt had been replaced by a plain gray t-shirt that hugged his biceps, shoulders, and pectorals, showing off the muscles she’d felt, but not seen, last night.
As sexy as the shirt was, his leather pants were the real star of the outfit.
“Dom leathers.” Alena reached out, but paused. “May I, Sir?”
Alexander raised one eyebrow but nodded. Alena ran a single finger from the waistband down his muscled thigh. He fidgeted, crossing his arms, and she swore she could see his cock twitch under the lace-up fly.
When she reversed course, trailing her finger up his tense thigh, Alexander grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand away.
“It’s time for your punishment.”
Alena hid a smile. “Yes, Sir.”
Chapter 7
“Up,” Alexander tapped one finger on the spanking bench. “Get in position.”
Alena stepped in close, hesitating for just a moment. This piece of equipment was better than the post as far as limiting the strain to her leg.
But it meant that her ass was most definitely getting spanked again, and she was still a little sore.
The spanking bench was well made, with the touches and details only someone familiar with the lifestyle would have bothered with, such as the way the torso support was angled, raising the ass slightly higher than the head.
The padded rails for the knees were spaced nearly half a meter apart. This was irrefutably a piece that not only allowed a sub to be strapped down, ass raised and perfectly positioned for punishment, but also kept her legs spread, her pussy exposed and accessible.
If she hadn’t amended her list, she doubted he’d have selected this particular piece, which gave him easy access to both sex and ass.
She couldn’t turn back now, even though apprehension and anticipation were making her stomach knot.
Alena slowly exhaled, then grabbed onto the angled top and put her right shin and knee on one padded knee piece. Shifting her weight to the right, she lifted her left leg, settling that knee in place, her legs spread wide.
As she got into position, the g-string shifted, drawing tight between her cheeks, rubbing her asshole. Her pussy lips spread along with her knees, and she was fairly certain that once she lay forward she’d be putting on a very lewd display—her labia spread on either side of the thong.
She was trying to decide if she should quickly adjust the g-string, as Alexander stepped forward to adjust the height of the torso support so it hit her just below crotch level.
He stood, and without glancing at her, said, “Down.”
Alena stared at him. He had not just—
Alexander turned to her, eyes narrowed. His fingers slid gently into her hair. Alena opened her mouth to explain that she would not respond to one-word commands.
Before she could speak, his fingers curled into a hard fist. She hissed, eyes squeezed tight as her scalp tingled with pain.
“Alena, obey.”
The tone of command was undeniable, but it didn’t change her mind.
She reached up and back, grabbing his hand, pressing it against her head so that she wouldn’t rip her own hair out at the roots as she turned to glare at him. “I’m a submissive, not a dog.”
“As a submissive, I expect you to be obedient.”
“Obedient? That’s a term you use for an animal.”
“English is not my first, or second, language. I am not using the colloquial meanings of words.”
He was right. She couldn’t assume he would know that dogs went to obedience school, or that he’d purposefully used the same commands dog owners did as deliberate dehumanization. However, even if that hadn’t been his intent, it had those connotations for her.
There were people who enjoyed the kink of being treated like animals. She wasn’t one of them.
“Saying up, down, calling me obedient… you might not have meant it that way, but it made me feel like an animal.”
Alexander examined her face, then his grip on her hair loosened. “You object to one-word commands, and any hint of puppy play.”
Alena looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Very much so.”
He released her hair but didn’t step back. He was close enough that she could feel the smooth leather of his pants against the side of her calf.
“I prefer to be…succinct.”
“My quiet man.” Before she thought better of it, Alena reached out and laid her hand on his cheek.
Alexander pressed his hand over hers, his eyes sliding closed for a moment.
And once again her heart lurched at the vulnerability she sensed in him.
Alena’s heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach fluttered, and once again the urge to pull back, to abandon the lies and manipulations pressed on her from within.
She couldn’t go on pretending she could have her cake and eat it too. No matter what mental hurdles she jumped, or Gordian justifications she came up with, there was no way to separate their relationship as sub and Dom from their relationship as investigator and target.
“Alexander—”
His eyes opened, and once more there was something in them, a darkness so wild it was almost feral. Those eyes were completely at odds with the tender way he held her hand against his face.
The rapacious look in his eyes made her wonder if she should have let him walk away earlier. Wondered if his talk of the dark, hard things he wanted to do to her was more literal than figurative.
Unsure what to do—which was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling—Alena lowered her hand from his cheek.
For a moment they were still, as if frozen in time.
Alexander’s hand shot out, grabbing not her hair but the back of her neck.
She gasped as he applied pressure and forced her upper body down.
Her breasts hit the leather-covered torso support. A second later her nose touched, and she turned her head to the side, her cheek mashed against the leather as he kept applying pressure—not a dangerous amount, but enough to make her brutally aware
of how easy it would be for him to truly harm her.
The thought made her tremble, and it wasn’t all from fear.
“Sir...”
“Quiet.” He released her neck and grabbed a wrist.
Alexander forced her right arm down so it dangled, then guided her fingers to a handle jutting out from one of the legs. It was cool against her palm, and had molded finger grips, the whole thing reminding her of the stationary handles on leg machines at the gym.
With her hand in place, Alexander crouched. Cheek resting on the leather, her gaze was restricted, and she could only see the top of his bent head. But she could feel what he was doing.
Cool, smooth strapping—it felt like nylon tie-down straps—was looped around her wrist.
He raised his head and glanced at her, brow raised. “I told you to be quiet. One word. Do you want to object?”
“Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” He finished with her right wrist, which was now securely bound. Her elbows were slightly bent, meaning no stress and strain on her shoulder like there had been last night.
She’d traded physical comfort for more dangerous bondage.
His choice to use strapping rather than cuffs or safety restraints meant there was no quick release.
No easy getaway.
“Like what, Alena?” he asked again.
“Like the wolf.”
“The wolf?”
“The one who eats Little Red Riding Hood.”
Alexander stood and circled around to her other side. She reached down, groping until she was able to find and grab the handle. A participant in her own captivity.
He crouched and started to bind her left wrist.
“Have you heard that fairytale?” she asked, aware that she was nervously filling the silence, when she should have been practicing deep breathing and relaxing pre-punishment.
Alexander snorted out a laugh. “Meine liebe, die Brüder Grimm waren Deutsche.”
“Right, of course. Wait, I thought you were Austrian?”
Alexander paused, and for a horrible moment she couldn’t remember what he’d said when they first met. Had he mentioned being from Austria, or was that a piece of information she’d brought in with her?
“My family has roots all over this part of Europe.” He finished binding her left wrist. “But that’s not what I want to think about right now.”
“What do you want to think about, Sir?”
He leaned in and nipped her shoulder, then ran his mouth along her side, over her ribs to her waist in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
When he sank his teeth into her hip, Alena pressed her forehead against the leather and breathed through the sharp ache.
Straps across her calves and ankles bound her legs in place, and the final restraint went across her waist.
Alena could still move her head, though turning to look back at him made her neck and shoulder muscles pinch and protest. Rather than give herself a muscle cramp, she laid her cheek down and closed her eyes.
Warm, firm hands ran up the back of her parted thighs to her butt. He kneaded her ass, pulling the cheeks apart as he did.
Alena shivered and tried to arch her back, raise her ass to tempt him into using her there.
Her body barely moved. She was strapped down tight, truly helpless.
He released her butt, the warmth of his hands disappearing. She heard him step away but could tell from the sound of his footsteps he hadn’t gone far.
“What were they?” she asked without opening her eyes. “The things you were thinking of doing to me. The things that were so…harsh…you thought you should walk away?”
“Open your eyes.”
Alena blinked, looking at him through a veil of her hair, which had fallen over her face. She had no way to brush it back, but she could still see enough to recognize the paddle in his hand.
Her whole body went cold. “That’s heavy impact.”
“It can be.”
“That’s not on my list.”
“We discussed this last night. Your distinction between heavy and light impact implements is imprecise.” Alexander reached out and brushed her hair off her face.
All that did was give her a clear view of what he was holding.
The paddle was long and rectangular. If they were in the US, she’d call it a fraternity paddle.
“I don’t have to justify my limits to you.” The floaty submissive feeling she’d just started to connect with was gone, replaced by sharp fear and panicky irritation. “And you do have to respect them.”
“I respect them.”
“Then put the paddle away.” Her words were authoritative and precise. Ridiculous given her current position.
“Are you afraid of the pain of heavy impact play?”
“Of course I’m afraid of pain. That’s normal. We talked about this last night.”
Why was he retreading ground they’d already covered?
Alexander stared down at her, dark and merciless.
Safeword. Safeword out of this. You’ve already taken this too far.
He stepped closer to the spanking bench, towards her upraised ass, and lifted the paddle.
Alena closed her eyes and braced herself.
Smooth cool wood slid across her ass and down the back of her thighs, then reversed course, coming back to her ass.
Alena exhaled noisily. “You asshole.”
“Watch your tongue.” The paddle rubbed in circles over her butt. “You’re a masochist, but not an extreme one. Is pain what helps you feel submissive?”
Lecturing and psychoanalysis were both fairly common Dom pastimes. She hadn’t figured her quiet man was the type to deliberately poke at her limits in order to see how she reacted.
Alena took a breath, considered giving a playful, glib response, but as quickly as she’d considered it, dismissed it.
“There’s a point midway up the pain spectrum where it no longer feels like pain is just a tool that my top is using,” she said quietly.
“You place restrictions in order to stop the pain from rising above that threshold you’ve identified.”
“Yes.” It hadn’t been a question, but she responded anyway. Her throat felt tight almost as if she were about to cry, which was ridiculous.
“What happens if you are pushed past that point?”
“It hurts too much.”
“Physically?”
“Please don’t keep asking me these questions.”
“I thought you enjoyed questions, talking.”
The paddle kept up its smooth circular caress. It had been nothing but gentle, yet she couldn’t relax. Any minute now he could raise that paddle and strike her with it. It would hurt. And the hurt would bring up shit she did not want to think about right now.
“It’s not just the pain you’re afraid of, is it?”
“Stop analyzing me.”
“I’m not.” He paused the paddle’s caress and she tensed. “I’m learning my sub’s limits.”
He laid the paddle down along her spine, then crouched by her head. “What are you protecting with the limit?” He brushed a few errant strands of hair back behind her ear. “What are you really afraid of?”
Alena closed her eyes and lifted her head just enough that she could press her cheek against his palm. Funny, how they both kept repeating that hand-on-cheek caress.
Her throat was now so tight with emotion that she couldn’t talk.
“Alena.”
She shook her head, not ready to speak just yet.
He reached out, running his hand along her side to her hip. He massaged her butt cheek in his big hand, and arousal bloomed inside her.
She shifted a little, trying to press her ass more firmly into his touch.
He patted her butt, the taps not quite hard enough to be a spanking. “What scares you, Alena?”
“My past.” She opened her eyes, her voice under her control, the tears that had almost spilled now safely tucked away
.
“Your past?” Alexander’s brow beetled. “You were abused by a Dom who didn’t respect your limits?”
“No, the abuse wasn’t from a Dom.”
Around the dungeon, other scenes were starting up and the ambient noise level had risen in sync.
But an invisible bubble had formed around them, creating an intimate moment, almost like pillow talk. It was easy to imagine that instead of laying on a spanking bench, she was laying in bed beside him.
“Who hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“Heavy impact implements. Beatings. They bring up stuff for me. Stuff that makes it impossible for me to stay in the scene.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, very softly, “Did you make them pay, the people who hurt you?”
“Do I seem like the kind of person who would waste time on revenge?”
“Yes. And it would not be a waste.”
Alena opened her mouth, but didn’t know how to reply.
Because he was right. She’d gotten her revenge, and no one else had ever asked about it. People who knew details of her past asked if she’d gotten therapy, rather than revenge.
The face she presented to the world was audacious and sophisticated. A woman who could handle anything with a wink and laugh.
But Alexander saw through that mask.
He understood her.
And she was going to betray him.
Chapter 8
Alexander stood and plucked the paddle off her back. She watched him tuck it back into his kit, which only confirmed that he’d pulled it specifically to test her reaction. Clever jerk.
He dug around for several moments, during which she formulated options for witty comments, and ignored the guilt that was sucking at her soul.
He turned around, holding a silver butt plug.
Convoluted feelings about what she’d have to do in the coming days, about the dishonesty and deception, disappeared along with half-formed witty comments.
A single, clear emotion took over. Desire. Wicked, wonderful arousal.
Alexander walked to her ass, one hand running over her cheeks in the same pattern he’d used to stroke her with the paddle.