Show Me the Ropes

by Roz Lee

  “Yes, Richard.”

  Sweet God he was going to die. And go to hell for what he was doing to her. What he had wanted to do for two torturous long years.

  He started at the top, running his fingers through her golden hair. He combed his fingers through it and tugged. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure she was paying attention. Her eyes never left his as he learned the shape of her face, one feature at time. His fingers lingered over her lips, sweeping from one side to the other, parting them, pinching, and plucking at them until they looked as if she’d been thoroughly kissed.

  God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to drag her down to the deck and fill her, but that would have to wait. His index finger traced a line from the soft indentation behind her ear, down her throat to the band he’d placed there. He slipped a finger inside, testing the fit. Assured it was loose enough, he brought his other hand up and with both hands bracketed her neck. His thumbs pushed her chin up, forcing her gaze away from his face. “Stay there. Don’t look down.”

  He couldn’t do this if she continued to look at him with those big wary eyes. He was already walking on the thin edge of self-control. Who was he kidding? Control had slipped out of his hands the moment he blackmailed her into acting out his fantasy. He wasn’t sure who, or what was in control. All he knew was that it wasn’t him.

  “Your breasts are perfect.” He tested them for size and weight, closing his hands over both of them simultaneously. Her nipples were hard little rubies he longed to touch. He lifted one breast and traced the gold rope around it with his finger. She shivered at his touch. “Are the ropes uncomfortable?”

  “No, Richard.”

  “Good.”

  His hands skimmed her midriff, across the swell of her hips, pausing to test the rope at her waist. His fingers swept across her abdomen and brushed across the top of her mound. Glory to God she was beautiful. He couldn’t wait to see her body criss-crossed with more ropes. One hand cupped her. She trembled again, and he fought the need to take her right then. Instead, he explored. He parted her with his fingers and sought the center of her, the place he’d imagined hundreds, maybe thousands of times.

  “You’re wet, sweetheart. Do you want me?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  Dear God. So sweet. So strong. So innocent, despite her expertise. “What if I told you to let someone else fuck you? Would you say ‘Yes, Richard’?”

  “No, Richard.” A jolt of possessiveness went through him like a static discharge.

  “Then you want only me?”

  “Yes. . . . ” her voice broke and the slim line of her neck convulsed as she swallowed. "Richard.”

  Mine. He slipped his middle finger deep inside her, hard enough to make her rise to her tiptoes. She slipped back down as he pulled out of her. He tasted her on his finger, then without warning speared her again as hard as before. “Look at me now.” She complied. He pressed his wet finger to her lips. “Open. Taste yourself.” She parted her lips and his wet finger dove into the hot cavern of her mouth. She whimpered as her tongue swept around his finger, taking every drop of honey. “That’s a good girl. You see why I can’t resist you?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  He closed his hands around her breasts and lifted them. “I wonder if these taste as sweet. Do you want me to taste them?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  Merciful heaven. He took her breast in his mouth and sucked. She screamed, shuddered, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t remember why he wasn’t going to fuck her right there. His free hand went to his wrap and freed his erection. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and remembered. Pain almost brought him to his knees, but he needed this, needed to feel her heat against his skin. He used his feet against hers to open her wider, then he shoved his cock between her thighs and gripped her buttocks, opening them wide and allowing the head of his cock to rest against his fingertips instead of her skin. It was enough to feel her heated honey pouring over his skin, feel her clit grind against his pelvis.

  He bit down on her nipple and flexed his hips once, twice. “Richard.” His name seemed wrenched from her lips. He stilled as convulsions gripped her. Holy, merciful God. He exploded. His cum shot against the cold metal bulkhead behind her. He saw stars as pleasure and pain melded into one entity. He carefully tucked his now flaccid member back into his sarong and gathered her close.

  Richard cradled her head on his shoulder and she slumped against him. The mingled scent of their arousal hung on the night air. He held her until she could stand on her own. Time he needed to grasp at the trailing end of control he’d let slip from his grasp. Finally, Richard set her away from him and bent to pick up her sarong. If he’d been a true dom he would have commanded her to do it, but she looked so vulnerable, so shaken by what they’d done, he didn’t have the heart to order her around anymore. She raised her arms and let him wrap the wrinkled fabric around her and fasten it in place. His hand sought hers. Their fingers entwined.

  “We’d better go. Can you walk?” He wasn’t sure he could.

  “Yes, Richard.”

  I instructed her in the basics of male anatomy, all the time aware I'd never seen a more perfect male specimen than the one she was about to take into her mouth. The rest of him wasn't bad either. At six feet he made me feel petite, something I've never felt before. His golden tanned torso was a testament to his love of the outdoors and some hours of physical toil. With his cock in her hand, her eyes raked over his well-defined pectorals. I fought the urge to claw her eyes out.

  From the file labeled, ‘Subject M5, Richard Wolfe'

  Chapter Three

  “This isn’t my cabin.”

  “It is now. I had your things moved while we were out.”

  “But. . . . ”

  “You promised to submit to me in all things, remember? You’re a passenger now, and I want you closer to me. Besides, how would it look to the rest of the crew if I continued to show up at your cabin?”

  He followed her into the forward cabin on the Olympus Deck. “They’re going to notice anyway.” She fingered the collar. “I’m sure it’s all over the ship by now, Richard Wolfe has a new woman.”

  “It better be. Maybe I should send a memo.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be necessary.” He tugged her to him for a quick kiss. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, say ten?” He broke away and moved to the door. “I’ll pick you up then. Wear the casual sarong tomorrow.”

  Fallon collapsed on the sofa. She had agreed to submit, but she hadn’t thought it through clearly. Her new cabin was one of the best suites onboard, second only to the ones occupied by Richard and Ryan, the ship’s owners. No memo would be needed. Word of her new status surely had already made the rounds. All her personal toiletries were in the bathroom, put away as if she planned to stay for months, rather than a week. She let the sarong fall to the floor and stepped into the shower. Hot water sluiced over her body following the ropes in a new pattern. They didn’t hurt; in fact, they were quite comfortable. The gold felt decadent against her flushed skin, a gentle reminder her body belonged to someone else now, at least for this week.

  She leaned into the spray. When the week was out? Then what? Would he simply unlock the ropes and set her free? She’d waited so long to feel his skin against hers, and now, when she had the chance, he’d put ropes between them. She could still feel his skin, but it wasn’t the same as the full body contact she craved. She toweled off and moved to the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

  Her index finger traced the golden lines, lingered on the small key. What had he said it opened? Nothing? She unhooked the key and fitted it to the lock at her waist. It slid in easily enough, but wouldn’t turn. So much for getting out of the ropes on her own. She hooked the key back in place. It had to be symbolic if it didn’t open the lock, but what did it mean?

  The cabin steward had turned down her bed and left her with an enormous phallic towel sculpture a
nd a note from Richard.

  I’ve instructed the steward to forgo your nightwear. I want to imagine your roped body against the white sheets. Sleep well. R.W.

  * * * * *

  She did sleep well. The emotional day had wrung every bit of her energy, and as soon as her head hit the pillow, she’d dropped into a deep sleep. Even the bright morning sunlight couldn’t erase the vivid dreams from the night before. A steward delivered coffee shortly after she awoke.

  Fallon opened the door to the young woman, who was clad in a miniature version of a French maid’s costume.

  “I didn’t order anything.”

  “Mr. Wolfe called early this morning with instructions to deliver a fresh pot of coffee at 8:30.”

  She should have known. Fallon poured a cup and took it to the balcony. Fresh air and caffeine helped clear her head. Yesterday she’d been someone she didn’t recognize. She’d read plenty about the psychology of domination and submission, but she’d never considered herself in those terms. Likewise, she’d never thought bondage would be something she would enjoy, but she had. Very much. It was too much to process all at once.

  Solid walls enclosed her small balcony, blocking its view from the ones next to it. Fallon loosened her bathrobe and let it fall from her shoulders. The rope ensemble gleamed in the sunlight. She ran her hands over her ribcage, tracing the diamond pattern they made on her skin. When Richard’s voice took on that certain tone, it was as if he flipped a switch and electrified her. Submitting to him felt right. She couldn’t imagine allowing any other man to do the things she allowed Richard to do.

  She fingered the jeweled lock at her waist. It all came down to trust. She knew Richard would never hurt her. Part of that knowledge came from seeing him interact with the passengers, even the ones she knew he took to his bed. He had a way of taking control of any situation and infusing it with reason. When he spoke, people listened, and obeyed. And he never abused the trust they put in him.

  What was it like to make love with him? Would he bring that same competent, you-can-trust-me attitude to his most intimate associations? Yes. Yes, he would. Just as he had gained her acquiescence in this game they played.

  Richard arrived at precisely ten. He wore a passenger’s sarong that matched hers. “Are you on vacation?”

  “Yep. I turned my Cruise Director duties over to Jason, and I trust Sean and his crew to handle anything that comes up from a security standpoint.”

  She nodded her agreement. “Sean knows the routine. Is he here because of the fire last week?”

  The fire in the aft kitchen had been a concern, but not the first of its kind. Over the last few months, there had been a series of unexplained mishaps onboard the Lothario. Fortunately, there had been no injuries, but Ryan had insisted they bring aboard Sean and his security specialists to check into the occurrences. Richard had agreed. “Partly. I don’t want to talk about the ship. I brought you something.”

  His tone told her they were back to role-playing. “What is it?”

  He dangled a length of gold rope from his fist. “I think you’ve earned another piece.”

  Her heart thudded against her ribcage. Which piece was it? It was impossible to tell, the way he held it. “Thank you.”

  “Lose the sarong and stand in front of the window with your legs open.” His voice was commanding.

  “Yes, Richard.” Game on. She tossed the wrap on a nearby chair and moved on trembling legs to the floor to ceiling window. The flawless sky stretched to the horizon over cobalt seas.

  “Turn to me.” Richard dangled the rope in front of her, let it slither and slide across her nipples. She locked her knees in an effort to stop the trembling in her legs as he teased each nipple with the chain, sending a hot river of desire straight to her pussy. Her nipples stood at attention, craving the warmth of his touch. His knuckle scraped her sensitized skin as he hooked a finger under the ring at her bellybutton and lifted the lock. With a key he now wore on a gold rope around his neck, he unlocked the ring and added the new piece, locking it back again. Every brush of his hand on her skin made her want more. By the time the new web covered her abdomen, branching into two thin ropes from an inverted V just above her mound, she was near to begging.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the window.”

  She turned and leaned into her palms flattened against the glass. He’d upped the stakes in the game. She knew this particular piece, knew it went beyond symbolic possession. This piece, if she chose to wear it, would symbolize her total surrender. She’d be open, literally, to him.

  Richard knelt behind her. His hands prodded her thighs to part and he reached between her legs to grasp one of the dangling ropes. His fingers probed her folds, parting her. She focused on the horizon in a futile effort to ignore the man probing her most secret places in broad daylight. No one could see her in the window unless there was someone out there on the open sea with a telescope, but it felt wicked all the same. He wove the first rope through the valley he’d exposed. The rope around her waist tightened as he fastened the new length of chain to a ring in the back. He repeated the process with the second rope and sat back on his heels. “Beautiful. Turn around, let me see you from the front.”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  She felt exposed, vulnerable, in a way she didn’t know existed. The rope wasn’t tight, but it held her open all the same. Her clit tightened, swelled under Richard’s heated gaze.

  “Is there a mirror in this place?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  He rose to his feet. “Show me.”

  She led him to the bedroom and the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her, splaying his hands across her abdomen.

  “Look at yourself.”

  She did. There was no question in her mind that she would wear the piece. His big hands covered her stomach, possessive, yet gentle. A finger flicked over her clit. Her knees gave way. He tightened his grip, steadying her while he fondled her exposed clit with one hand.

  “Open your eyes, Fallon. Watch. See how your clit responds to my touch?” He clamped the throbbing organ between two fingers and tugged. Sensation rocketed through her and she cried out. “Does that hurt?”

  “No, Richard.”

  “Shall I do it again?”

  “Yes. . . Oh God. . . Richard!”

  Orgasm, sharp and insistent, gripped her, sending her flying out of control. She clawed at his arms, seeking solid purchase in an anchorless world. If he intended to punish her for spurning him these past months, he was doing a great job. He held her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders from behind, the other cupping her until her tremors ceased, then he let her go and stepped into the bathroom.

  Water ran, washing his hands, she surmised, as she rested her forehead against the mirror and tried to even out her breathing. Her thighs were sticky with her own arousal. She could smell herself in the air. Yes, she would wear the new piece. One word from his lips and she’d open herself to him, anytime, anywhere.

  “Get dressed. We’re going to brunch.”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  * * * * *

  Hell. He knew the place intimately. He’d lived on it for two years. The only thing that made it bearable was the angel onboard. He couldn’t put a name to his need to torture himself and pleasure her. Today he would taste her. Wearing the labia ropes, she would be open and vulnerable. He had the place picked out, had imagined her there many times. They talked of trivial matters over brunch before he brought the conversation around to where he wanted it to be. “How do they feel?”

  To her credit, she didn’t act as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. “Fine. Naughty.”

  “Naughty? How?”

  She glanced around, checking to see if anyone was near enough to overhear. One couple, stark naked, ate and talked as if they brunched naked in public every day, totally unselfconscious. Near the rail at the outdoor café, two men sampled brunch offerings f
rom the naked woman sprawled across two tables. You got used to those kinds of displays on the Lothario. She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Well, it feels strange I guess, to be so open. I feel like everyone should know it, sense it somehow, but then I realize only two people know, you and me.”

  “Like a secret?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s it.”

  “All you have to do is spread your legs and our secret will be exposed. Does that turn you on, Fallon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do it if you want. We can clear the table and you can sit on the edge and open your legs and sarong and let everyone here see what I have done to you.” She ducked her head and her skin flushed with heat. “Would you like that?”

  “No, Richard.”

  “Spread them for me, under the table. No one can see.” Her eyes darted around again seeking assurance. He couldn’t see under the table, but he felt the air stir as she moved her legs apart a few delicious inches. “More. Open wide.” Her eyes met his, bold, as she shifted in her chair again. He smiled at her. “How does that feel?”

  “Wicked.”

  “Does it make you horny? I can call the waiter over and have him bring you a dildo.”

  “No… please Richard, don’t.”

  “I can smell you all the way over here. Your pussy is dripping, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Richard.” Her face flamed, but her eyes remained on his. He hadn’t allowed her time to clean herself before they left her cabin. He’d liked knowing this secret between them, and he’d wanted her surrender to be fresh on her mind while they ate.

  He shifted, brought his foot up between her thighs, and flicked his big toe over her clit. Her eyes went wide, then closed. A little sound, a moan perhaps, escaped her parted lips before she sucked her bottom lip in and held it there with her teeth. He flicked his toe again. His eyes scanned the area to see if anyone had noticed. Assured no one had, he slid his toe down to her weeping vagina and wiggled it inside her.