by Jane Henry
He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Chandra, you don’t have to try everything. It’s okay if you want to say red.”
“I don’t want to chicken out,” I tell him. “Plus, you gave me a safeword. If I chicken out, I can safeword, right?”
“Yes,” he says, straightening. “Alright then. And if you’re gagged, I’ll find a way to make sure you can still safeword.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Water play,” he says, and for the first time, horror strikes me, and it takes me right out of the moment.
“Red, sir,” I tell him.
“Good girl. Gags?”
“Green, sir.”
“Public punishment?”
“Oh. Green, sir.”
“Public sex.”
Holy hell. “Um. Yellow, sir?”
I cringe, wondering if I’ll get in trouble for not following the rules, but he only chuckles.
He goes through a few more, and I’m not sure what everything is, so I ask, and find there isn’t much I’m not at least willing to try. I do wonder, though. How much is he willing to do? Are any of these things off his limits? I don’t know.
“You’ve done a very good job,” he says. Then he’s gone. I try to look around, but he’s slipping something silky and black over my eyes. “God, you’re a vision,” he says, his voice choked with… what? Emotion? Desire? I don’t know.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, and then I’m sinking so deep into the darkness it’s beautiful and scary and exhilarating. I let my weight sink into the table, and for some reason, the bonds at my wrists and ankles no longer feel restrictive but liberating. I’ve allowed this. I’ve let him put me in this position, and here, engulfed by darkness, movement disallowed, I can only feel.
“Clear your mind, Chandra.” His words are beside my ear, and the warmth of his breath makes little goosebumps prickle along my skin.
“How do I do that, sir?” I ask. “My mind is constantly going.”
Smoothing a hand over my hair, his voice is at my ear again. “That’s a very good question, baby. Start by just feeling.”
Fingers tangled in my hair at the base of my scalp. He weaves and tugs, sending a shiver of delight along my skin, then strong, firm fingers are massaging my skin. It’s soothing, like getting my hair washed at the salon, and almost as nice as warm water trickling over my hair.
“Imagine your thoughts quieting,” he says. “Every time I touch you, they seep out of you like the tide ebbing at sand.” His hands are at my neck, kneading so firmly it’s almost painful, then one hand wraps around my throat. “Just feel,” he instructs. His grasp tightens and my breath hitches. I can breathe, but barely, and I need to focus hard against rising panic. My pulse races, my body tensing, then he lets my throat go and both hands are at my shoulders. He runs them along my body, down my sides, and when he gets to my ass, he yanks up my dress.
“Noah! Axle. Sir!” I protest.
“If you’re obeying me today, you’ll lose your clothing when I command it,” he says in a deep, chiding tone.
I whimper a little but nod. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re new to this, and that’s okay. But sometimes if you’re new, you push yourself further than you should. I need to keep tabs of my marks on you. You’ll lose the panties so I can see.”
I’m swimming, sinking, drowning. His fingers gliding up to grasp the strip of fabric. My hitched breath. The touch of his warm, rough hands yanking my panties down and over my feet.
God!
“Yes, sir,” I say. I’m lightheaded and it’s hard to breathe, but my core contracts with his command.
“Chandra?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Breathe,” he instructs, then something whistles through the air and lands on my ass with an audible snap. I yelp, and try to get away from the burning sensation, but I can’t move. This is definitely not the crop, but something far more painful.
“There are a few things that can really help aid your submission,” he says. One warm hand presses firmly against the small of my back, before another burst of pain flares against the underside of my ass. “Things that will heighten my dominance over you. One is a good, hard spanking.” He spanks me again, and again, and I can’t think beyond the pain.
“Remember your safeword,” he warns me before he spanks me again. “What is it?”
“Mad,” I whisper, the irony hitting me with its force. I’m mad. He’s mad. Everyone who sets foot in this place is mad, wanting to play with pain and power and getting off on what should be something to be avoided. My mind shuts my thoughts off when he spanks me again, this time harder, but the pain quickly fades to warmth.
“Mad,” he repeats. Then he’s spanking me in earnest. For some reason it doesn’t hurt as much now, though. It’s still painful but my body absorbs the pain, and I arch as much as I can tied to these restraints. I need more. I want deeper. Harder.
He pulls away from me only enough to elicit an involuntary whimper, then he’s back with something else harder, and though the burn fades quickly, the pain is deeper and somehow even more humbling. The loud whack echoes in the small space, and my clit throbs with the impact.
“Good girl,” he approves. “You’re doing such a great job. Let go. Release it. Feel, baby.”
And I do. I feel the touch of a man who once loved me. Who maybe loves me still. And I can’t remember what happened or where we are or even why. My thoughts are jumbled and confused, but there are tears in my eyes. It isn’t from the pain, though, but something deeper that he’s drawn to the surface with this pain, and I hate it. This was not a good idea.
His voice sounds so far away. “That’s it,” he says. He’s kneading my bruised, punished flesh with his strong hands. “Such a good girl,” he approves. Tears fall freely now, and he brushes them away with one hand. I’m still submerged in darkness behind the blindfold, but it only makes me more aware of everything around me. His heavy breathing. How strong and powerful his hands are as he kneads my bare skin. The way my core tightens and contracts when his hands brush the inside of my thighs.
His hands are at my ankles and the cuffs are undone. My ankles are free, my wrists still bound, and then I’m in his arms and his mouth is at my ear, his voice soothing and a little sad. “Time to role play a little aftercare.”
Chapter Eight
Axle
Watching Chandra stretched out on the bench, I want to lift her in my arms and tuck her into me, so deeply and securely she can’t ever flee again. She’s still blindfolded, but the blindfold is damp with her tears and they’re seeping beneath the edge. I brush them away and unfasten the cuffs at her wrists so I can draw her to me.
When I offered to show her what this was like under the thin guise of research, a warning twang in my gut told me this was a bad idea. I knew I’d get turned on dominating her. I knew I’d deal with a raging hard-on and the inability to eviscerate the memory of her from my mind tonight, tomorrow, maybe ever. But I didn’t think of how this would affect her.
She always was an emotional girl, a sweet little thing who wore her heart on her sleeve. She’s strong, though. So damn strong. I’ve seen her withstand pain that would’ve made others crumple, then rise above when others failed.
But when she cries, she undoes me.
When she’s completely unrestrained, she lays on the bench like the good girl she is, waiting for me.
“C’mere,” I say, my voice gruff in the quiet room, belying the tenderness that warms me through. She fumbles at the blindfold.
“No,” I instruct. “Leave that for me.”
Her hands obediently fall to her sides. I pull her head against my chest and unfasten the blindfold. The damp, silky fabric falls to the ground. I kick it to the side and pull her to me. She folds into my chest easily, as if she was meant to be there, and here, in this moment, I know the truth in a way I never did before: she was. She was meant for me, and I fucked that up.
Our decision to break up was mutual, but hell if it wasn’t
a mistake.
I left her once. I won’t do it again. When the snow clears, and she leaves, I could let her vanish into the vastness of NYC.
I can’t let that happen.
I don’t know what it will take to bring her back to me but holding her vulnerable form against mine is a goddamn start. She fits so easily against my chest, soft and sweet and tender. I kiss her forehead and brush the hair back from her face, then take her hand and lead her to a nearby bench. I sit down and pull her onto my lap.
I half expect her to protest, but aftercare is often part of a scene, and if she doesn’t like this, she has her safeword. But she says nothing. Not a word. Even her tears have stopped, and now she just lies her head on my chest, one hand splayed gently against my shoulder, the other tucked up against her. We sit there in the quiet, while I run a hand along the back of her head.
“It’s intense, huh?” I ask her.
She nods. After a moment, she says, “Wouldn’t be as intense if it were with someone else, but yeah. Intense is a good word.”
Something in me warms at that, but at the same time my mind tells me stop. Run. Danger zone.
“Those little spankings I gave you when we were dating were nothing like that,” I say. “But boy did I want to give it to you a time or two.”
Her laughter tickles my ears, and my arms involuntarily tighten around her. “I know. And I maybe deserved it a few times.”
“That time you went out with your friends and got in trouble down by the beach?”
She’s giggling against me now, her eyes still bright with tears but now crinkled up with laughter. “You brought me home and threatened to redden my ass if I ever did that again. Oh you were so mad. I felt terrible. But you know, I fantasized about that threat for years.”
“Did you?” Why does this surprise me? She always melted into me when I swatted her ass, even if sometimes she feigned indignation.
“You actually did punish me once,” she tells me.
“Did I?” I can’t remember.
“How can you forget something that’s seared into my memory like that?” she asks, half amused, half angry. “Yeah,” she says. “You know, I write about this now. I get why I was drawn to it. Heck, I get why I’m drawn to it now.”
I hold her in my arms. I could do this forever. Just hold her while she talks to me.
“Yeah? Tell me.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it again. “Are we still scening?”
The question surprises me, and I feel my brows rise. It isn’t time to reminisce. Not now.
“Yes,” I tell her, letting her go. “Feeling better now?”
She nods, and her eyes shutter a little. “Yes, sir. And I will tell you, just maybe in a little while.”
I question whether or not I should make her obey me. There’s one stray tear on her cheek I wipe with my thumb. And when she looks at me with those beautiful doe eyes of hers, her full lips parted and cheeks bright pink, I can’t help myself. I lean down and brush my lips against hers. She moans into my mouth, and my cock thickens at the sound. Jesus, God I missed this. Chandra’s breathy moans. Her responsive body that craves my touch, my dominance. Her soft, sweet body yielding to mine. My body remembers this, how right and good and natural this is.
I’m suddenly aware of her skirt that’s tucked up at her waist, and the heat of her skin against mine and the way her full breasts heave against my chest. I groan into her mouth when her tongue laces against mine. I grip her scorching hot ass in one hand and brace her with the other, but I need more. My lips punish hers with the heat of a thousand past hurts, branding her for being the temptation that broke me, that breaks me now. I reach for her dress and yank it up further, palming a full breast before I tweak her nipple to punish her more. But this is a sweet, seductive punishment.
I can’t do this with her again. I took advantage of her once. I refuse to allow myself to do it again.
It takes every bit of self-control I have to yank my mouth away.
“Why did you leave?” she whispers.
“You told me to go,” I respond, my voice tortured and strangled. Fuck, I don’t want to talk about this now. Not ever.
“You shouldn’t have listened,” she says, but I’m still the damn dom here, and I’m not letting this go.
“Enough.” I silence her with a harsh command. Her lips close tightly, and her eyes flash at me, but she doesn’t disobey.
I let this aftercare get out of control.
We aren’t the people we were back then. We never will be again.
I promised her a day of role play. Fuck if I’m gonna let my weakness keep me from doing exactly what I said I would.
“We’re moving on,” I tell her. I weave my fingers through her thick, black, fragrant hair and pull her head back. When my cock twitches at the way her mouth parts and her pupils dilate, I welcome the punishment. I ache to fill her, to plunge into her to the hilt and take what’s mine. But I won’t. I lost that privilege. I’ll torture myself by meeting her needs and neglecting my own, but I’ll remember. Let it cleanse me.
Holding her hair in hand, I lean in and grate against her ear. “Back on your knees.”
She falls to her knees, both apprehension and excitement written in her features.
“Good girl,” I approve. “Kneel the way I instructed you.”
She’s clumsy, nearly tipping over, and she frowns at me. I lean down and help her by placing her in position. When she kneels like a good little sub, I smile at her.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” I stand and walk to where I have a stash of new equipment at my disposal. I palm a delicate pair of lavender clamps and a jeweled plug.
If she wants to see what this is like, I’ll show her.
She’s keeping position, but her eyes follow my every move, and when she sees the metal toys in my hands, her eyes go impossibly wide and her lips part.
“Axle,” she whispers.
“Sir.”
“Sir, I…” her voice trails off and I give her a hard look. If she doesn’t want me to do something, she safewords. If she doesn’t, I’ll have to teach her.
I sit on the bench in front of her and eye her pointed nipples against her dress. The dress has to go. I reach for the hem and lift it up. “Up you go.” I guide her arms up and strip her. Folding it, I place it on the bench next to me.
“Good,” I approve. “Now the bra.”
She unclasps her hands and reaches for the bra, her hands trembling, but it’s hard on her knees to get it right.
“Hands back in position,” I instruct, then I reach down and unfasten the bra at her back. Her full, voluptuous breasts swing free. I stifle a groan at the sight of those dusky pink nipples, impossibly more beautiful and tempting than ever, the hardened nipples that beckon me to lick and suckle and nip them. Cupping one breast in hand, I lean down and run my tongue along the peak of the other. Her head drops back, and she moans, melting into my mouth. I reward her with my fingers at her pussy, and when I feel her wet folds, I stroke her as a reward for being such a good girl. She’s primed now. Perfect.
Too soon, I tear my hands away and take out the nipple clamps. I keep my eyes on hers when I fasten the clamps. The coated lavender metal hangs in a loop connecting the two clamps. With a gently swipe, I pull the chain, causing the clamps to tweak her nipples. Chandra whimpers and her shoulders rise, mouth parted.
“Just like that,” I tell her. “Keep position.”
Running a finger along the metal edge of the chain that binds the clamps, I let the gentle sway of metal tug them. I fastened them firmly enough to stay but gentle enough that they won’t harm the tender skin. When I tug a little harder, she hisses and rises, but when I bend down and smack my palm against her ass, she falls back in position. I hold the jeweled plug up for her to see.
She swears under her breath, which earns her a good, hard swat to the ass. She quiets.
What happens when she leaves here today? Will she come back like she did last nig
ht, and give her submission to someone who isn’t worthy of it? Hell, I’m not worthy of it, and here she kneels, naked, and vulnerable, and the safeword hasn’t left her lips.
I hate the idea of her submitting to someone else. If another man lays eyes upon her when she’s vulnerable and split open, I can’t hold myself accountable for what I’ll do.
I want her to safeword. I want her to know she doesn’t have to take what I give her, and that when it’s too much she has the power to stop me. There’s almost nothing on her hard limits, but hell, there should be. No one should take advantage of her. She controls the power here with her consent, and hell if I’m going to let her fall into this without knowing exactly what she’s getting into.
“Exam table, Chandra.”
She blinks.
“Exam table?” she repeats.
I feel my lips thin in disapproval. I don’t want her repeating the instructions, I want her moving. I can feel anticipation weaving its way through me and I’m so damn hard it aches, but I have to keep myself calm and in control.
It isn’t her fault she’s desperate for domination.
It’s mine for showing her this to begin with.
But hell, the girl needs to know what could happen to her.
Stumbling clumsily to her feet, she quickly rights herself and winces when the clamp chain swings, tugging her delicate nipples. I palm the weight of the chain in my hand to momentarily alleviate the pressure.
“I’m not going to warn you again to safeword,” I tell her. But hell, I just did.
She nods, and there’s something in her eyes that puts me back years. She’s older now, but her eyes haven’t aged, and when she looks at me like that, I’m still her secret lover, and she’s still the irresistible beauty I’d have given anything for.
That’s bullshit. You wouldn’t give anything for her. You left her.
But it was for her own good.
Her own good, or yours?
I silence the mental berating with force, focusing on what I need to do next.
Her steps are lazy and slow, as she eyes the paper-covered table with apprehension.