TRUST - Meghan & Quint (Fettered Book 5)

by Lilia Moon

  She’s gaping by the time I sit down.

  I set the crop down in front of her. “This is capable of leaving marks. It’s also capable of delivering some beginner-appropriate blows to your ass after I’ve warmed you up with my hand some. Your choice of on top of your pants or just your underwear.”

  She swallows and clears her throat, but nothing comes out.

  Which is fine, because she’s a newbie and it’s not her words I’m listening to. It’s her body. She’s nervous and tangling hard with her own self-judgment—but she’s also curious. Tempted. Leaning.

  I’ve never been a fair Dom. I reach over and grab the first picture she liked and lay it next to the caning one. “Here’s an offer. You ditch your pants. I’ll bend you over that table over there and hold your hands together behind your back or cuff them. I’ll warm your ass up with a light spanking and finish up with a few swats from the crop. Then I’ll show you just how easily I can make you come with your underwear still on and my hand between your legs.”

  She whimpers—and looks horrified.

  I lean over, hand under her chin, and put my nose an inch from hers. “You came here to find out what you want, Meghan. Do you want this?”

  Her breath leaks out, warm and soft against my chin. “I think so.”

  “Not good enough. Make your choice and own it.”

  She pulls her chin out of my hand and backs away and I think I’ve lost her. I can see the rejection of all I’ve just offered rising in her eyes. She looks down at the photos again and very slowly exhales.

  I wince as a dim light bulb in my head finally gets brighter. She’s not running. She’s just looking for a little space to think, and I almost Dom steamrolled her instead. She’s definitely a sub, and one who needs to be pushed—but just as far as the cliff’s edge. Not over it. She needs a moment to contemplate the cliff.

  I sit quietly. Give her the space she needs.

  When she lifts her head again, I have my answer.

  Chapter Ten

  Meghan

  “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  I know I’m the one who said the words, but I feel like they’re hanging in the air between us, some kind of strange entity of their own.

  “Good.” Quint swings to his feet and holds out his hand. “We’re in a scene now. Today, you can talk if you need clarification or if something is physically uncomfortable or if you need to use one of your safewords. Otherwise, I want you to stay quiet. You’ll call me Sir until we’re done.”

  That much I’ve learned from the office gossip. “Yes, Sir.”

  His smile is small, but real. His hand moves to the small of my back, which sends shivers through the rest of me. His other hand reaches for the crop on the table.

  My knees wobble. This is nuts.

  “You have your safewords.” He walks like he expects me to come with him, and somehow I do. There’s a table on the other side of the room, padded with black leather. Four cuffs hang down the sides, attached to chains. Dungeon suddenly sounds like a really good name for this space.

  He guides me to the long end of the table and reaches for one of the cuffs, unclipping it from the chain. He holds out his hand and waits.

  It takes me a minute to realize what he’s waiting for. My brain gurgles. The cuff is leather and wide enough to run halfway up my forearm. Not a toy. His face gets sterner, which makes me want to whimper. I hold out my arm instead.

  “Very nice. Thank you.” He slides my hand into the cuff, and I’m surprised at how soft it is inside. He does up two buckles, clearly testing fit as he goes. It’s comfortable like a pair of favorite shoes, but it makes it blindingly clear that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

  He unclips a second cuff and holds out his hand again.

  This time I’m faster on the uptake, but no less wobbly in my knees. I can feel my brain trying to abdicate and leave town. It doesn’t want to be responsible for what’s coming next.

  He holds my two wrists, studying the cuffs. Letting me look at them. I can feel him studying me too, but I don’t know what to do. I’m not supposed to talk—which, ironically, means I know exactly how I feel.

  He puts my arms down by my sides, and his fingers move to the waistband of my pants, finding the zipper. I suck in a breath as he lowers it, very slowly. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep staring at a random speck on his shirt.

  “Step out of your shoes.”

  They’re ballet flats. The feel of my naked feet on the floor is grounding—and terrifying.

  His hands slowly slide my pants down my legs. “Hold on to the table while you step out.”

  His words are neutral, clinical almost, and he hasn’t touched my skin at all—and still, I can feel my trembling.

  He carries my shoes and pants over to a chair and then returns, studying me like I’m some kind of science project.

  I feel sick to my stomach. I have no frame of reference for this. No way to know what I’m supposed to do, how I can keep this from turning into a train wreck.

  His face doesn’t change, but his eyes get that hint of softness again. “You’re doing just fine, sweetheart. And you have really sexy legs.”

  Okay, maybe not so clinical. I take in a breath that almost squeaks.

  “All you have to do from now on is exactly what I tell you.” He steps into my side and turns me to face the table. “Hands behind your back. Bend over, chest on the table. Let it take your weight. Feet shoulder-width apart, ass in the air.”

  I try the first part and grimace as my hands fumble behind my back. The big cuffs make it hard to keep them there.

  Quint moves behind me, I hear a clink, and suddenly my arms are attached together. I tug, whimpering again because this just got far scarier than I expected.

  His hands land on my shoulders. Rubbing a little. Soothing.

  I breathe out and realize he’s actually made the bending-over part easier. I’m also glad he’s behind me, because my chest is pushed out like a pin-up girl. I bend over, hoping I don’t break my nose, and feel him holding my arms. Providing counterbalance. Reminding me just how in charge he is of those cuffs.

  My head floats down to the table, soft as a feather, and something inside me lets go along with my spine. Settling and waiting for whatever comes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Quint

  Of course she likes lacy underwear.

  I grin, because the ones she’s wearing are teal and soft and look like they came from the place where Harlan shops for Scorpio, and those don’t come cheap. I appreciate quality equipment, even the lacy kind. I trail my fingers over the wide band of lace that forms the leg opening. It’s leaving plenty of luscious ass and pale skin exposed, and the part of me that would love to leave my marks has to take a big fist-hold of control. The most I’m going to do today is make her ass pink, and we could easily not get that far.

  She wouldn’t be the first sub who’s panicked at the first blow.

  Right now though, she’s got an entirely different kind of problem going on. I grin again as I read the delicate squirms of a newbie who’s trying to hide her ass without me noticing. “Hold still.”

  The squirms freeze.

  I put a hand on the small of her back. A reminder, and an anchor. “Everything that happens now is my choice. Your job is to lie here and take it. If you can’t, use your safewords.”

  She nods a little. Still hearing me just fine.

  I run my hands up her arms. “How are your shoulders?”

  She seems surprised by the question. “Fine.”

  I wait.

  Her cheeks flush. “Fine, Sir. Sorry.”

  She’s good at reading my nonverbals, even when she can’t see me. Maybe too good for a beginner. The hyperawareness of a people pleaser. I remind the guy in my head who’s all excited to get my hands on her ass that she’s dangerous. I set one hand down on top of her wrists, anchoring them to her lower back. The other one rubs her ass gently while I survey her arousal signs.

  With a more exp
erienced sub I’d just slide my fingers into her pussy and check, but that’s off the menu for today. I do a visual, though. Her underwear might hide direct line of sight, but if I’m reading her right and she can find enough bravery to let me play, her pussy should get nice and swollen and wet, and no scraps of underwear are going to be able to hide that.

  I glance up the table at her face. She’s looking reasonably relaxed. Eyes closed, muscles loose, breathing fairly steady. Her arms are doing fine—she’s nicely flexible. High color in her cheeks, but I am fondling her ass.

  I do that a little longer, enjoying the warm curves. She’s got the kind of ass I love to play with—padded in all the right ways. Skinny’s never really done it for me. I pause a moment, my hand still on her right ass cheek, and then pick it up and deliver a sharp swat.

  She jumps and nearly swallows her tongue, but she settles back on the table.

  Good. She’s not going to bolt. I give her other ass cheek the same treatment, and this time she doesn’t jolt nearly as hard. I make one of the sounds I use to communicate with my subs, because I’m not a talkative guy in scenes and she’s already shown how receptive she is to nonverbals.

  The corner of her mouth I can see turns up a little.

  Good enough. I set up an easy drumbeat on her ass, keeping it light. Just hard enough to make nice sounds and get her blood flowing. I’m glad she was willing to let her pants go. I could have given her the taste she wanted fully dressed, but I like skin on skin.

  She’s not moving at all now. Nicely relaxed, especially for a newbie.

  I drift the blows a little closer to her pussy to see how she reacts. I get a soft, breathy whimper. Even better, her ass shifts toward my hand.

  I move my swats away. I have other plans for her pussy, and a bigger taste of impact play to deliver before we go there. I put a little more zing into my blows. She grunts and tightens up. I rub her ass. “Relax into it, just like you were doing before. See what the sharpness becomes if you absorb it.”

  She nods, and I land my hand back on her ass before she’s finished. I don’t dial back on the increased intensity at all. Rubber’s just landed on this particular road. She tightens up again, but I can see her effort to relax this time. I keep at it, landing my hand on one ass cheek and then the other. Moving the blows around, giving her enough space between them to loosen up again, but not much more.

  It doesn’t take many before she’s not clenching up anymore, and her skin’s turning a beautiful pink color. I stop with the swats and give her a little rub. I could happily keep this up, but I’ve got another toy I want her to meet.

  I take a couple of breaths, waiting until she joins me.

  I pick up the crop and tap the shaft lightly against her ass—and watch, damn happy, as her entire body cues in.

  Chapter Twelve

  Meghan

  Oh, gods. He’s going to hit me now.

  I hold my breath as Quint rubs the crop over my ass—and then taps me again. With the stick part, and then with the leather end. The touches are baby soft, so light it almost tickles. I get the message. His control with this is as good as with his hand. It will hurt exactly as much as he intends it to and no more.

  Somehow, that relaxes me.

  He makes his pleased sound again—and then there’s just the tiniest hint of a swishing sound and half my ass is on fire. I hear my whine of protest, and I’m ashamed.

  His hand presses down on my cuffed wrists. “Make all the noise you want, sweetheart.”

  That’s all the warning I get and the other side of my ass is on fire too. I gasp for air, but I can already feel the fire changing. Spreading out. Turning into… something else.

  The leather flap draws slowly across my thighs and over my pussy, and I realize something else. I’m wet. Like really wet. Wet enough my panties are soaked and he can totally see.

  I turn my face down into the table, mortified.

  He laughs. “In here that’s totally beautiful. You don’t ever need to be ashamed of what you want or of letting your Dom see it.”

  I can barely hear him through my flaming ears.

  He leans down by my head. “Do you need your safewords?”

  I might be really new at this, but even I know you’re not supposed to use them just because you’re so embarrassed you might die. “No, Sir.”

  “Good.” He taps the shaft of the crop on my ass again. “Four more. Then I’m going to have some fun with your pussy.”

  I don’t know if I can do four more. They really hurt.

  He sets the leather part on my ass, closer to my thigh this time. I barely hear the swish over the pounding of my heartbeat. The fire is just as fierce, but I can feel that it isn’t actually my whole ass he’s hit. Just a small part. Ground zero for an intense heat that rolls out over the rest of me—and straight to my pussy. I can literally feel it getting wetter.

  I wonder if he’s leaving marks. He said he wouldn’t, but I remember the woman in the photo. Her pussy was really wet too.

  I moan, and this time I don’t care.

  He matches his work on the other side, and I’m not running away from it anymore. I’m waiting. Reaching for the heat and the wave it sends through me.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful, Meghan.” His voice is a little hoarse—and full of appreciation.

  He lifts the crop and I tip my ass up.

  He lands the heat. Closer to my pussy, once on each side really fast, and hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. Hard enough to really, really hurt. I whimper, because it’s not turning into pleasure this time—and then it does. Huge, molten, rolling mountains of it.

  I hear the crop clatter to the ground, and he’s cupping me, wrapping his fingers around the soaking wet inferno he’s just created. He groans a little and pushes his palm against the core of my heat. I grind against the pressure, feeding the desperate wet flames that only need a little more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Quint

  I should leave her where she is, facedown on my table. It’s going to take less than a minute to make her come and there’s no good reason to change anything.

  Except for her eyes when she looked at that second damn picture. And the sadness when the first one felt lonely.

  I unclip the cuffs, because I don’t want to be worrying about her shoulders right now. Her arms flop down at her sides, limp rag dolls that have no job left to do. I scoop her up, propping her up against my body, sorting us out until we’re on the table on our knees, chest to chest, her head resting on my shoulder. My erection is hard as a rock against my leathers and her belly, but she’ll just have to deal.

  I slide a hand down between us and cup her again. I can feel the moment she gets it—when she figures out what I’ve just done. I grin as she sags against me. I’m going to have to remember how much this sub likes visuals.

  Her underwear is only frustrating my fingers at this point, but limits exist for a reason, and I want her to absolutely trust mine. I tug up on the front of her scrap of lace, applying pressure to her clit.

  She groans and undulates against me.

  I could keep it up and make her come this way, but her clit would pay for that friction, and that’s not how I want her hurting tomorrow. I let go of her underwear and form my fingers into a hard, tight unit and vibrate them side to side over the front of her pussy. Her cry against my neck is plaintive and immediate.

  I rub faster, because her bones aren’t going to hold her up much longer. Her arms fly up around my neck, and her back arches, pushing against my hand. I give her what she needs, using the arm I have around her back as a vise. She inhales, a short series of gasps, and bites my shoulder.

  My cock nearly blows its lid.

  I dig two fingers into the wet mess of her underwear, hoping to straddle her clit. She keens when I find it.

  I breathe hot into her ear and pinch my fingers together.

  Her whole body shapes into one wild, fierce arc with a scream at the top—and then she collapses agains
t me and simply quakes.

  I keep cupping her. Keep the vibration going, because there are plenty of aftershocks and hot little whimpers attached to this orgasm and I want all of them. And I wish for a camera. The look on her face is unbelievably sexy—and exactly what she saw in the photographs she liked.

  Utter surrender.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quint

  I carry Meghan over to a couch in the corner of the dungeon, enjoying the time with her cuddled against my chest. I’m pretty good at reading newbie subs, and I’m guessing she won’t stay in my lap for long.

  She doesn’t even start there. I sit down on the couch, and as I pick up a blanket, she scoots off my legs and tucks herself into a corner.

  I keep my face neutral. It’s a shrinkydink, two-person couch precisely so that a sub can’t escape very far, and I’m fine with this so long as she’s moving into her own space for the right reasons. I drape the blanket over her and tuck it in, grab us both bottles of water, and sit down close enough to touch her but far enough that it won’t happen by accident.

  She relaxes a little. “I’m not really a cuddler. Sorry.”

  I shrug. “That’s fine. Are you okay with me touching you some while we talk, or do you need space from that too?”

  She’s staring at me like I just offered to have her name tattooed on my arm.

  She’s that new. “This part is called aftercare. We talk, we process what just happened, we make sure you’re feeling steady on your feet and in your head. Some subs like to do that naked in their Dom’s lap, and some don’t like to be touched at all.”

  She blows out slowly. “Thanks. For the explanation, and for understanding.”