by Unknown
In the meantime, she wanted another kiss, so she turned up her face to get one. Hart obliged. His kisses were like him, possessive without being needy. She, on the other hand, felt decidedly needy. Once again she was naked and he clothed. Dressed nicely too, in a black dress shirt and worn leather jeans, a variety of textures for her to press up against. His shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal some wiry chest hair, and she ran her hand through it.
“I love you, Master.”
“I love you too.” A look of puzzlement crossed his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what to call you.”
She remembered how Walt liked to use the word slave, and it had irritated her a little but she had gone along with it. She wasn’t anyone’s slave, and she possibly never would be. But she could submit to this man like she could no other. He’d respected every limit she’d set—on safe sex, the house and everything. That created a framework in which she could safely say she’d obey him, because she knew he wouldn’t ask more than she could give. “I’m yours,” she said. “You can call me whatever you want.”
“My slut,” he said softly, running the back of his hand on the side of her breast.
She shivered because of the touch and because it was a little bit true. Both the word and his touch made her wet. Although she wouldn’t be that way for just anyone. “Yours,” she said, both because she was his and to emphasize. Your slut, Master.
“My slave girl.” His hand moved to her nipples and squeezed. At the same time, he tugged her hair back, baring her neck to kisses that turned into nips.
His control made the house feel suddenly hot, although she had felt it had cooled down a little since all the people had left. “Your slave, Master.” Part of her feared that he would take advantage of the word. It’s hot, but…
“Never forget you have a safe word and your own dreams to pursue. Always tell me when I’m wrong or when you need something different than what I’m giving you. Always tell me of your limits. That’s an order, slave girl.”
Wow. “Yes, Master.” She couldn’t suppress a grin, even though his voice was deadly serious. It didn’t seem like the most submissive thing to agree to. “Only if it pleases you.”
“This neck seems awfully bare without a collar. We should do something about that.”
“Are you sure?” He’d been playing the field for so long. They’d been going out for a while—nearly two months, so it wasn’t completely crazy. But they’d just said I love you. She wanted his collar, but she didn’t want him to do something he’d regret.
“I’m sure,” he growled. “Unless you’d like to use that safe word.”
Not a chance. “Not unless it pleases you, Master.”
“Kneel, slave girl.”
She went to her knees.
He walked up the stairs. She heard his footsteps. Did he come prepared for this? Did he have a collar already bought, hidden amongst the bondage gear he had in her bedroom? It didn’t take him long before he was coming down the stairs again, however, and all that was in his hands when he reappeared was a strand of thin crimson rope about ten feet long.
He sat down cross-legged in front of her, putting their eyes almost at a level, and started tying knots in it. Each one he adjusted carefully until it was perfect before he pulled the rope through it and worked on the next. The effect was to create a braid, rather than a series of knots, and he kept at it until he had a length of braided rope over a foot long. He wrapped it around her neck briefly and then added a few more. She watched with fascination. She admired his improvising, but at the same time it added to her fear that perhaps it was merely an impetuous gesture.
Then he pulled a couple of pieces of metal out of his pocket. He pulled the braided rope through one of them, a D-shaped ring that had a small gap in the middle of the D, until the D sat in the middle. Then he pushed the other ring, perfectly circular, into the gap of the D and brought it around the curve.
“Did you just happen to have those lying around?” she asked.
“No. I put them in my bag because I thought that someday we’d want them. Someday is today. How are your knees?”
“Sore.” The floor was hard and he almost always made sure she had a cushion. But she almost hadn’t noticed until he asked, because she was so wrapped up in what he was doing. “But if it pleases you, Master, I’d like to stay where I am until we’re done.”
He smiled. “Just a little longer.” He took a pair of needle-nose pliers out of his other pocket and used them to clamp the D ring so that the gap was closed. He wrapped the braided rope around her neck and tied it in back. “It won’t tighten. It won’t loosen. It probably won’t sell pottery either, so you may not be able to wear it all the time, but I’ll make something else for that.”
“You’re very confident in your knots.”
“I am.” He slipped his finger into the O-ring. “With this collar, Vanessa, I claim you to be mine forever. I promise to protect you and command you.”
She smiled. “I promise to obey. And kick the shins of anyone who tries to mess with your property.”
His eyes creased and he grinned as if trying to hold back a chuckle. He tugged on the ring. “Stand, slave girl.”
She scrambled to her feet. Once she was standing, he kissed her again deeply, his tongue claiming every bit of her mouth as his.
When he let go he said softly, “Unless this is violating your earlier limit—and please tell me if it is—I’m moving in.”
Can I take him all the time? But she’d be at the store much of the time and he’d be out working. Having him in her bed every night sounded wonderful. Coming home and having dinner with him. Waking up to feel his early morning growth of beard. “I think we can find a place for you. Somewhere. I think maybe the house could hold more than one person, if they don’t mind being close. I mean, there’s extra rooms and a few bathrooms—five, I think.”
“I’m sleeping in your room. In your bed. The real problem is that there’s only one kitchen.”
She blinked. “Um—”
“Taste of your own silliness, my love.”
“Oh. Yeah. I knew that.” She kissed him lightly. “Um, also, there’s a grill out back, so that’s sort of like a second kitchen.”
“Sort of. Kind of.”
* * * * *
“I saw Carol was on the guest list,” Hart said.
“I noticed that too.” Vanessa looked down at the racquetball court, which was now a kind of mini dungeon. A St. Andrew’s Cross was there, and a spanking bench and a cage. A suspension rig hung from the ceiling. She’d hesitated at having the bolts put in to support it, but it wasn’t as if she used the room much for actually playing racquetball. She could live with there being the occasional odd bounce from the ceiling if she ever got back into it. It was odd having all that stuff in her house, but after the demonstrations she realized she got a vicarious pleasure out of watching people enjoy themselves in her home. And it is my home, not my parents’. Although it’s quickly becoming our home.
Hart’s arm around her waist was a comfort. So too was the collar around her throat, letting any would-be Doms know that she was taken. No one had one quite like it.
“Are you worried Walt will try to crash?” Hart asked.
“A little.”
“Chuck and Jannah are manning the door. I don’t think much of Walt’s chances if he tries it.”
Vanessa smiled. “I know. I just hope he doesn’t, for his sake, you know? I’m not into humiliation scenes.”
Hart nodded. “Me neither.”
“Thank goodness!”
“You knew that.”
“I did. You’ve got it all organized and figured out, don’t you?” He had been on the phone a lot lately, organizing, scheduling, calling in favors. She had to admit it all seemed to be going smoothly.
“I hope so.”
She snuggled up a little closer, deliberately pressing her breast into his arm. “It’s all fine and well to b
e in charge, but when do we get to play?”
He grinned. “I’ve got that figured out too. Once we see how everything is going, the dungeon masters will take shifts.” He tapped the bright-yellow armband that marked him as someone to come to if something went wrong. Jannah, Karl, Chuck and Garrett each had one. Garrett was making himself at home behind the bar that extended between the kitchen and the living room, serving up all kinds of drinks—and, Hart had assured her, keeping track of how much everyone drank. Sodas were free, liquor was extra and another source of profit, but Garrett would cut people off if he thought they were drinking too much to make sound judgments about how to play. The money they were making was never going to keep either of them from needing a job, but it would at least pay for some of the upkeep to the house.
Of course, having a man around who worked in construction didn’t hurt either. When Hart didn’t know how to fix something himself, he usually knew someone who did who was happy to do the work in exchange for a favor. No, it didn’t really matter whether the enterprise turned a lot of a profit. That wasn’t why they were doing it. It was just wonderful to help people explore their sexuality together in a nice, safe, friendly environment.
“So when’s your shift off?”
“I’ll surprise you.”
She smiled. “Is it going to be a good surprise?”
“It depends on whether you like— Well, that would be the surprise. But I think you will.”
She nodded. “I’m going to take a walk around, see if everyone’s enjoying themselves, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
What she heard as she strolled around her house was nothing but positive. Not only were people having a good time, they kept telling her how much better it was than the Devil’s Workshop. She hoped she wasn’t cutting into their business too much—it was one of the reasons they were running on Saturday night, when the Devil’s Workshop was a gay bar rather than a kink venue. “Go to both,” she said, wondering how much Hart and herself would be going to the city club. Like a lot of things in their relationship, they just had to let it find its own level. Sometimes it was awfully nice to spend Friday night in front of the TV or in bed. Or wherever Hart pleased.
She looked up from the racquetball court and saw Hart looking down at her. She realized that strangely, with an X-frame against the wall and a woman swinging in intricate bondage from the rafters, she felt more home than ever. My people. My house.
Hart blew her a kiss and she blew a kiss back.
“Good job, girl,” said John, coming up behind her. “You finally tamed him.”
She grinned. My Master.
About Sindra van Yssel
Sindra van Yssel is a multi-published author of BDSM romance fiction, who likes to explore trust and commitment and pack her stories with plenty of kinky sex. She draws on her own experience within the BDSM community to keep the scenes both hot and realistic, and has a soft spot for happy endings and characters who learn more about themselves. Her love of books has led her to both her professions: librarian and writer.
Sindra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sindra van Yssel
Master in Melbourne
Submission Island 1: Passion Flower
Submission Island 2: On Location
Submission Island 3: Please, Sir
Recipe for Submission
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Only If It Pleases
ISBN 9781419991721
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Only If It Pleases Copyright © 2014 Sindra van Yssel
Edited by Jillian Bell
Cover design by Fiona Jade Media
Cover photography by pivART, pio3
Electronic book publication July 2014
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