JennasConsent

by Jennifer Kacey

Chapter Sixteen

  The main stage room was nearly filled when Nick arrived. The gossip train apparently made it around to each and every member of the club.

  Whatever.

  This was between him and Jenna.

  He thought about making the punishment private but her error in judgment happened in public, so she needed to make amends in somewhat of the same setting.

  Catching sight of Ian had him barely suppressing the urge to bare his teeth.

  He’d discussed the situation with Chris and Jared again, trying to get Ian fired for being an asshole but apparently that wasn’t a fire-able offense.

  Dammit.

  Nick had felt like a damn tattler. He’d stormed out, knowing he wasn’t handling any of the situation well. He couldn’t wait to have Jenna all to himself in his playroom later to reestablish exactly who owned her.

  Ian snatched his arm. “Don’t you dare fucking hurt her.”

  Nick ripped his arm away, stepping quite inside the other man’s personal bubble. “You don’t have jack to say about this.”

  “It’s about me, so I’d say I sure as shit do.”

  “It could have been anybody.” Nick gave him a once-over, hoping he felt like a bug on a windshield. “You’re nothing special and I’ll be damned if you think you can walk in here and take her from me.”

  “If it was that easy to take her, then she really wasn’t all that much yours to start with. Wouldn’t you say, friend?”

  For pissing matches, Nick would’ve called theirs a draw but he wasn’t finished.

  “Feel good fucking someone else’s property?”

  “Did Jenna say that?”

  Nick smirked, curling his lip at him. “Not in so many words but I know what was in her face earlier. Whatever she did, she felt guilty about. She broke our agreement and my trust in her. Now she’s got to earn it back.”

  “She has nothing to earn back from you. You shared her already. With. Me. So I’d say she has nothing else to feel guilty about.”

  Nick clenched his jaw, relaxing his balled fist. Knocking out a fellow employee probably didn’t sit real high on the gold star chart. “I told you her safe word before I shared her with you the other night. Make you feel like a big man knowing you’re still in her head? Well, don’t worry. It won’t be after tonight. If this is some kind of sick game, I will destroy you.”

  “Bring it on.”

  “Name the place. Any place and I’ll be there. Just make sure you have your health insurance up to date.”

  Nick had learned earlier while talking to the twins that Ian was an ex-vice cop from Chicago. Those cops had to be ruthless. Some of them were gutter-style fighters with no rules, depending on where they were stationed and who they had to fit in with.

  Pretty evenly matched, he thought and couldn’t wait to hand him his ass.

  Nick glared at him, watching as Jenna walked up in his peripheral vision.

  “My sub’s waiting for me. If that collar’s around her neck, don’t so much as breathe in her direction.”

  One side of Ian’s mouth tilted up into a sneer. “Have you seen her mask? The one she ties in?”

  Nick glanced at her, knowing exactly the mask he spoke of but wanting to see her reaction to his words. She looked worried and Nick wanted to howl but he said nothing.

  Ian added, “When you’re up there, ask her about it. Then we’ll see who she wants touching her.” He stalked off, blending into the crowd.

  Nick glanced around and everybody else stood around whistling, acting as if they didn’t hear every word they’d just exchanged. Amazing how many sets of eyes hit the floor.

  He crowded Jenna, noticing she brought her rope bag.

  Good.

  “On the stage, dump your bag in the middle and get the mask on.” She opened her mouth and he cut her off. “Not a word right now. On the stage and lock the frame down when it’s up.”

  “Yes, Sir,” softly reached him and he wanted to melt. That just made him more pissed.

  She threw him for a loop—sometimes several times in the same minute—and he was sick and tired of feeling so fucking wishy-washy all the time.

  He dogged her all the way to the stairs and let her take them as he stepped over to the stage controls.

  Jackson met him there and Skye was with him but talking to another couple.

  “What do you need?”

  “There’s a custom A-frame built inside the stage. I need it up to its full height.”

  Jackson manipulated controls until the metal on the top of the frame appeared from the middle of the stage. As soon as the suspension ring came into view he paused.

  He knew enough about rope to know exactly what kind of scene was about to play out.

  “Need a spotter?”

  “She’s a fucking self-rigger.”

  Jackson struck stupid was a sight to see. “How’d we miss that?” He manipulated the controls again and the frame continued to grow.

  Skye turned to them and piped up, “What did you say? What kind of rigger?”

  “Self-rigger. She can suspend herself in rope.”

  “Duh. She’s been doing that for years. Even before Ian. It’s kind of how they met. Sort of.” She turned her attention to Ian across the room, staring daggers at him. “Douche.”

  “Are you fucking joking? You knew and didn’t tell us?”

  “Again, duh. That’s her business. Get off your high horses, gentlemen. I’m sure you’ve been completely transparent about all of your kinks too right? Open book, no secrets to be had?”

  He remained silent, staring her down then glanced at Jenna. She already had her mask on, as she locked down the frame.

  Skye hardly even blinked when he focused on her again. “That’s what I thought, Casanova.”

  She didn’t even shiver in fear—at all.

  Maybe he was losing his edge.

  “She’s my best friend. If you hurt her…” she jabbed him in the chest to get his attention but left the rest of the threat open-ended.

  He looked at her and she grinned, baring her teeth. “I know people.”

  The impression that she was not joking struck him as odd.

  Sometimes he thought she came from money and other times she reminded him of a street fighter he knew years ago. Someone used to relying on their fists to survive.

  “Back off, Skye. You really don’t want to mess with him right now.”

  Skye narrowed her eyes at him one last time, then took her hand back.

  Jackson gestured to the stage. “Looks like she’s got it all locked down. You need anything else, we’ll be here.”

  He nodded once then picked up his toy bag from where he’d stashed it on the far side of the stage steps.

  He stomped up the stairs and the general chatter filling the room seconds before evaporated. He dumped his bag next to hers and made a beeline for her. To her credit, she didn’t back up but her eyes looked especially wide since that was about all he could see above the leather covering her lower face.

  With a handful of her hair he yanked her head back, exposing the mask to the bright lights above the stage. The raised band of the leather he’d noticed before was actually a modified collar. “And you wear his fucking collar when you tie?”

  “Yes-s, Sir.”

  Fingers twitched to snatch it off her. For half a heartbeat he thought about leaving her there and walking away for good but his feet wouldn’t move. “That’s earned a second punishment.”

  “Should I pick a new safe word, Sir?”

  His fist tightened in her hair and she flinched in pain.

  “Oh no, by all means you should keep it. ’Cause if I’m topping you and you even mumble his name I’ll never touch you again. Understood?”

  Her muffled whimper reached him through his fog of anger.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “The first part of the punishment is rope is no longer a hard limit. You lost your ability to claim it when you weren’t honest about it in the beginning.�
�� He went to his bag and took out the only actual toy he’d brought with him.

  A sadistick.

  It looked like a very slender metal cane and was rather unassuming in length and weight. Most people who hadn’t experienced it, dismissed it as nothing more than a tiny prop. Those who had already met with the business end knew to fear it above most other toys. Out of the corner of his eye, Jenna backed up a step.

  Smart girl.

  He grabbed three hanks of jute, tucking the handle of the sadistick into the back pocket of his pants.

  “Face the crowd.”

  She swiveled slightly, doing as she was told.

  He dropped two of his rope coils on the ground, crowding her feet with them. A tiny whine reached his ears and the rest of the crowd disappeared.

  He tucked his finger into the end of the rope and tossed the rest of it away from him. It flew, reminding him how much he relished the possibility of tying Jenna.

  Putting his rope on her was going to be the capper to a very shitty day.

  He moved behind her, running the jute up and down her arm as he moved.

  A vague idea of what he wanted to do with her, to her, flowed through his mind throughout the day. Standing next to her, moving behind her the plan washed over him. Blood rushed to cock, filling it. For her.

  Her arms hung loose by her sides, waiting for him, calling to him to bind as he pleased.

  Moving her wrists, he lifted them both behind her back and rested them one on top of the other. “Leave them there.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Her voice was soft and maybe a little bit scared.

  Adrenaline raced through his system, calling to him, urging him to tie.

  He wrapped the jute tightly around her chest, securing it beneath her breasts. Then he bound her upper chest, crisscrossing between her breasts and across her back. The rope became his outlet for his frustration, for his attraction, for his need for her.

  Not a word was spoken as he tied her in a chest harness but he said more than he’d said to anyone in years.

  He gave of himself and took from her in return. The energy exchange in their first rope together made him want to fucking roar.

  Purposefully, he left her wrists and arms free and took a moment to lower them to her sides again, stepping in front of her.

  Her eyes were closed. Her head slightly tilted to one side and he imagined a soft smile on her face but couldn’t see it behind the mask. She looked as if she’d fallen from a kinky heaven.

  His kind of place.

  He brushed hair off her forehead so it didn’t cover part of her face. He wanted to hold her, fuck her and use her until she couldn’t stand any longer. He stood a bit taller, remembering the reason they stood there.

  As if another man’s collar wasn’t a reminder enough. Dormant or not, it made no difference.

  “On your knees.”

  It took her a few seconds of concentration but she slowly lowered herself to the ground.

  “So pretty on your knees for me,” he snarled from above her and he walked in a circle around her, touching her shoulder, her hair.

  He fisted it and she jerked while he angled her back on her haunches. “Legs out from underneath you.”

  She moved her legs, unfolding them from beneath her body. He released the grip he had on her raven locks, moving the rope on the floor in front of her between her legs.

  “Two futomomos with a Y-knot at the top of the right one to suspend by. No mistakes or you’ll be retying it until it meets my standards.”

  She glanced up at him, the challenge clear in her eyes.

  Her fingers slid across the rope as if she were acquainting herself with a new lover. The way she tossed the rope out and tied a single column tie around her left ankle, wrapping her folded leg from her thigh toward her knee. It reminded him of a rigger he’d met overseas several times. Nick’d taken several classes from him over the years when they were in the same space.

  When she finished, she moved to her right leg, reversing the tie for the other side, matching the spacing of the wraps. Equal tightness on both, perfect hitches along the sides.

  Even as she tied the Y-knot at the top, there was nothing he could complain about. Nothing that he could fault her for. Utterly magnificent.

  “Tie it again.”

  Her fingers faltered on the jute as she paused in her last tie. She looked up at him, confused.

  “Each knot is perfect. Precise. Exact. Take it all off.”

  She stared at him, clearly not understanding.

  “I’m waiting.”

  It didn’t take her much time to remove it all and he didn’t even have to ask her to re-bundle the rope. She did that on her own as well, crossing her legs in front of her, placing the rope in beside her shins. The way she lined them up was impeccable.

  The care she showed for the rope was just what he expected, almost reverent. But she was so focused on perfection she lost the meaning of the tie itself.

  She was knowledgeable. Her technique flawless, better than his he could admit but he wanted her to tie for him.

  There was a difference and he intended to get what he wanted.

  In his bag he dug out a rectangular swatch of black fabric. He folded it in half length-wise twice, making it a perfect blindfold.

  He knelt behind her, wrapping the material over her eyes and knotting it in the back.

  She never asked a question, didn’t make a peep, but her breathing grew shallow and he could feel her heart beat along her back.

  “I want you to tie it again. I want you to feel each tie beneath your fingers and on your skin. Tie it with your heart involved this time instead of making it all about the tension and the aesthetic. Tie it for me this time.” He kissed down the side of her throat, nipping her shoulder between his teeth.

  Her head twitched toward him as she seemed to fight her need to submit to him, to give him what she so obviously needed to give.

  The pads of her fingers slid along the flesh of her thighs, over her knee, and down to her shin. Into the rope.

  Her exhale said it all.

  He stayed where he was, touching her, brushing strands of hair from her neck, massaging her shoulders as she tied, kissing her shoulder. Biting it—hard.

  She tied faster, closer to the end. The ends of the rope flew in all directions. It almost seemed as if the rope were her baton and she conducted some kind of orchestra only she could hear.

  But he heard it.

  Through her.

  From her.

  For her.

  She tied with an emotional chorus raging through her body, the likes of which he’d never seen before. It was magnificent to witness, divine to touch as she tied the last knot on the top of the basket on her right knee completing his command.

  “Done. Sir,” she panted behind her mask.

  The hair on her temples was slightly shiny from the sweat beading on her brow as she exuded more and more energy closer to the end of the tie.

  He reached around her, grabbing the last coil of rope laid before her.

  He released the wrap holding it together and moved her arms behind her again, crossing her wrists so he could tie them together. Wresting her control from her, removing the physical aspect of it had adrenaline racing through his veins.

  After binding her wrists, he attached them to the chest harness with a couple well-placed knots. Then he decided to put the extra rope to good use after he suspended her, so he left it loose.

  He moved her right under the frame, laying her on her back, with her knees bent before her. One more hank of rope from his bag was all he needed for the mainline.

  He tied onto the loop of rope she’d left him at the top of her knee, then ran it up to the suspension ring above her.

  “Deep breath,” was all he said to her, before pulling her up to a full suspension, putting all her weight on her right leg.

  “Ahhh,” she cried out as the ties around her leg shifted against her skin.

 
Her ties were perfect, taking her weight beautifully and blood surged through his system, hardening the thick shaft of his cock.

  He wanted to take her then, stake his claim on her, mark her as his own but he decided to mark her in a different way. Reminding her why they were there to begin with was much more important.

  “Mmmm. You’re pussy’s wet for me isn’t it?” He rubbed his fingers over the obvious wet spot on the crotch of her panties. “Quite the rope slut, aren’t you?”

  He got on his knees again, putting her face only a few inches below his.

  With the blindfold still in place she couldn’t see him but she could sure as shit hear him.

  “My rope slut. Say it. I want the words.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she mumbled behind her mask, opening and closing her hands to process the pain of the tie. “Your slut. Yours.”

  “My name.” He grabbed her by the back of the head and the knot of the blindfold, lifting her body into his personal bubble and away from the suspension ring.

  “I know it’s you, Nick. Sir, I know it’s you.”

  “Good. Don’t you dare come.”

  She made a sound as if she was going to speak again but he released her hair, dropping her into the full weight of the suspension again.

  Instead of crying out this time, she bore it silently, trapping her true reaction behind the mask she wore and so many other things he had a feeling he didn’t know of.

  He grabbed the rope still attached to her wrists behind her back, looping it up and over her pussy, then ran the working end through the lower wrap on her chest harness tugging it tight, tying it off as she twitched against it.

  Happy rope.

  Or in her case, not happy rope, since she couldn’t come.

  She moaned again as the rope bit into her pussy, creating crotch rope she could hump against to get herself off.

  If only she had permission.

  He wanted to tweak her nipples, suck on them, bite them until she begged him to stop but the corset she wore kept them trapped.

  “You keep so much hidden from me, from others.” He spoke low, not wanting to share with everyone else watching but not wanting to hide it from her either, nor make her feel like it was some dirty secret she needed to protect any longer.

  He pulled the sadistick from his back pocket, rolling it in his palm.