by Lila Dubois
“Yes, Sir.” She spoke to Solomon, but kept her eyes down, and stayed close to James.
“Good. I have a few other house rules. First, submissives are to remain barefoot at all times while in the dungeon. Second, everyone here is expected to know and practice risk-aware play.”
“We use RACK,” James replied for them.
He’d told her about risk-aware consensual kink, or RACK, which was a set of guidelines for play, but different from “safe, sane, and consensual”—the more commonly known and understood conduct code. As James had explained it, because some of the things they did together could not, by normal definitions, be considered safe, or even sane, he used RACK.
Solomon walked over to the desk, then turned, leaning against the front. James led Christiana over to one of the round-backed club chairs facing the desk. He sat, pulling her onto his lap. Her dress fluttered for a moment before settling around her.
Calling it a dress was perhaps a stretch. It was actually a series of layered, wispy garments held together with bows or loops and pearl buttons. She’d put it on in layers. The base was a loincloth that tied at the hips and a strapless, fluttery top held closed between her breasts with a single pearl button. There were several layers on top of that—a long skirt slit up one side, a loose sheath dress, and the topmost layer, a poncho-style top of sheer white fabric, held closed with a row of round white pearl buttons along the top of each arm. Between the buttons, small patches of skin showed, seeming darker than usual when contrasted with the white buttons.
Each layer was sheer enough that if she’d been wearing them on their own they would have been see-though, but layered as they were, her body was mostly obscured.
Solomon looked at James. “Have you explained to her what a skin party is?”
“I mentioned it.”
He had? What had he said about a skin party? He was stroking her thighs, and it was distracting enough to make it hard for her to think.
Solomon transferred his attention to her. “At a skin party, any exposed skin on a submissive can be touched by any Master, Mistress, or Dominant in attendance.”
It took a moment for Solomon’s words to register, but when they did, Christiana’s eyes widened, and she leaned back into James’s chest.
They’d talked about it on the plane, but somehow hearing it again, now that they were actually here, was very different.
She wanted to look at him, to see his expression. Had he been lying when he said he wanted to be the only one to touch her?
Though she wanted to turn and look at him, instinct told her not to look away from Solomon. The man radiated danger, though it was the danger of an ember or banked fire—a deep potential for violence and destruction if not watched.
“You’re collared.” Solomon glanced pointedly at her neck. “It’s a bit different for you.”
Christiana relaxed. The collar must mean that the skin rule didn’t apply to her.
That also meant the reason James had given it to her was so only he could touch her, not because he really wanted to collar her. That hurt a bit, but she pushed that aside to be dealt with and examined later.
“Anyone who wants to touch exposed skin must first ask your Master.”
Christiana blinked. “Wait, they can still touch me?”
“If your Master gives them permission. But only exposed skin.”
“Perhaps a demonstration,” James said quietly.
Now she did twist on his lap to look at him. His gaze was hooded, his face unreadable. Twin ribbons of fear and arousal wound down her body, raising goose bumps in their wake.
“James, may I touch your sub?” Solomon asked.
He’ll say no. He’ll say no, won’t he? He said the idea of anyone else touching me made him crazy.
Christiana was still looking at James when the corner of his mouth twitched in what was either a muted smile or a small tic.
“Yes,” he said.
Christiana sucked in air. She whirled, prepared to jump off James’s lap, but James wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in place. His lips brushed the back of her neck. “Trust me,” he whispered.
Solomon pushed off from the desk. He was totally focused on her, his gaze sliding over her, weighing his options. He dropped to one knee in front of them. Solomon kept his gaze on her face as he placed a single fingertip on top of her bare, dangling foot. Christiana jumped as if he’d shocked her.
“Hold still,” James commanded.
She shivered in reaction to the command in his voice. She fought to obey, to submit—an internal struggle, which was made all the more difficult when Solomon ran a single finger along the bottom of her foot. She jerked her leg up, bracing her foot on James’s knee.
“Christiana,” James snapped. “I ordered you not to move.”
“To be fair,” Solomon said. “I tickled her.”
“Put your leg down.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want anyone else touching me!” Her voice was high and thin with anxiety.
“I don’t,” James said. “But this isn’t about that. This is about you obeying.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Solomon, would you be so good as to continue?”
The other man’s already stern face hardened, and Christiana’s stomach clenched. She grabbed the arms of the chair, fingers digging in. She was trapped on James’s lap—one leg up, the other dangling between James’s knees, his arms tight around her waist.
She was covered, yet she felt exposed.
Solomon reached for her other foot. She could kick him. He was on one knee. She could kick him in the face, probably break his nose. Then she’d run for their room and…
And what?
Solomon cupped her foot with one hand, applying just enough pressure to make sure she couldn’t pull away, then traced designs on the top of her foot with the index finger of his other hand.
“I’m trapped,” she whispered. “I can’t get away.”
She’d meant the words for herself—she needed to hear them aloud to help her make sense of this hot, pulsing feeling inside her—the fear that was throbbing in her abdomen.
“You are not trapped,” Solomon said. “Your safe word works. Myself and the other dungeon monitors know the safe word of every submissive here. Your safe word is engineer. Use it if you need to.”
“And then what?” she demanded. “I’m trapped on this island.”
“No. You’re not. You would be immediately flown to a lovely hotel in George Town, on Great Exuma.” Solomon leaned to the side, looking around her at James. “Perhaps she isn’t ready.”
James hesitated for a moment, then took his hands from around her waist. Solomon stopped touching her and scooted back.
Christiana pushed to her feet. She felt cold from losing the heat of their hands. Cold and alone.
She took a step toward the door and stopped with a gasp. She was aroused. Wildly, embarrassingly aroused. When she took that first step, the trapped wetness in her pussy made itself known, her labia sliding against one another.
That pulsing ache inside her wasn’t fear, or at least it wasn’t just fear. It was arousal.
She turned to look at James. He regarded her with solemnity.
Just because she was aroused didn’t mean this was a good idea or that she wanted to stay here.
But she didn’t want to leave.
Christiana walked between James and Solomon, perching on the other chair positioned before the desk. Sitting meant pressure on her pussy. She squeezed her knees together.
James and Solomon both watched her. Waiting.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready…Master.”
James’s shoulders sagged in relief when she called him Master. She hadn’t realized he was nervous until she saw that.
“You may not be.” James sat forward, twisting in the chair so he was almost facing her, elbows on his knees. “This time when he touches you, look at me. Listen to me.”
Solomon rose, ci
rcling around behind her. Christiana tucked her hands under her thighs so he couldn’t touch the bare skin there.
James smiled, while Solomon chuckled, a rumbling like an earthquake she felt more than heard. “James, may I touch her?” Solomon asked again.
“Yes.”
Christiana kept her gaze on James’s face as Solomon stroked his fingers down her cheek, over her jaw, to her neck. He stopped at the collar, then retraced the path.
James sat back, heavy-lidded gaze on her. “What are you feeling, my sweet?”
“Aroused,” she whispered. “Nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d like.”
“What about it wouldn’t I like?” James rubbed his lower lip with his thumb.
Solomon touched two fingers to each shoulder, tapping the little bit of skin exposed between the buttons. Then he jumped down to the next bit of skin, leaning over her as he worked his way down her arms to her wrists.
“I like making you submit. I like watching you fight yourself before you give in to my control. I like knowing that you’ll do this because I order you to. I like watching your nipples harden.”
His words fell from his lips, each one heating the room and making her pulse with need. She understood. This wasn’t about someone else touching her. This was about the collar, about submission, and trust.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“My sweet.”
Christiana pulled her hands out from under her thighs, then turned them palm up, resting her wrists on the arms of the chair. Solomon wasted no time tracing her exposed lifelines, making Christiana’s fingers curl in reaction to the delicate touch. Though it was Solomon who touched her, it was James who mattered. The way he looked at her, with such attention and desire, was what made her blood heat.
Finally, Solomon stepped back. “Now you know what a skin party is.”
“Skin party, also known as fondling free-for-all.” Christiana sounded a bit more breathless than she would have liked.
James cleared his throat pointedly.
“Thank you for helping me figure it out, Sir.” She tried for throaty and sexy as she thanked Solomon. Behind her, he smothered a laugh.
James crooked his finger. “Get over here, you mad, sweet woman.”
“Mad?” Christiana slid back onto his lap, this time curling her arms around his neck. Her body throbbed pleasantly. His hand curved around her hip.
“You are rather mad, aren’t you? After all, you did come with me to this island so I can make a skin suit out of you.” James wiggled his eyebrows.
“Skin suit?” Solomon asked in alarm.
“Inside joke,” Christiana assured him.
“Oh, good, you’re both weird.”
James ignored Solomon, reaching up to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “If you’re not ready for this, we don’t have to go in.”
“You mean into the dungeon.”
“Well, it’s more of a ballroom, but Solomon likes to call it the dungeon.”
“I think I’m ready, but I have a question.”
“Ask me.”
“Will you be touching other subs?”
His brows went up in surprise. “That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, only considered her. Christiana started to feel anxious, and regretted voicing her question.
“You’ve left me at an impasse,” he said softly.
“I did?”
“If I say that no, I won’t, then that will mean I’ve allowed you to dictate some of the terms of our play. The time for that is in contract negotiation and while filling out the checklist, not right before a scene. If I do what you want, then I’m allowing you to top from the bottom. That negates some of our power exchange.”
“I don’t mean it like that. I just want to prepare myself. Emotionally. If you are going to, uh, touch other women.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her nose and the other corner. “You want to plan and assess and know what’s about to happen. I understand that. It’s who you are, but you need to let go. Trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“We’ve had fun this past week. More than fun—it’s been a sort of kinky honeymoon.”
The word honeymoon made her remember that she’d briefly thought he was going to propose, and she shifted awkwardly on his lap. Doing so reminded her how wet she was, which actually helped bring her back to the moment.
“But now it’s time to push ourselves. It’s time for you to trust me and submit, even without knowing specifically what will happen.”
“I can do it.” She needed to remind him of that. “That first time we were together, I had no idea what would happen, and I trusted you.”
“That’s a fair point,” he conceded.
“As fascinating as this is, I need to return to my other guests. Are you two coming?”
Christiana had forgotten Solomon was there, and embarrassment pinched at her even as she relaxed into James, trying to tell him without words that she was ready.
He urged her off his lap and then stood, lacing his fingers with hers once they were both up. His loose pants made it easy to see that he was semi-erect, which she’d more or less guessed from what she’d felt while on his lap.
“Thank you for waiting,” James said with a sort of polite formality that seemed strangely appropriate despite what had come before now. “Please lead the way.”
James and Christiana followed Solomon out of the long, narrow office and through the house, until they reached a set of heavy double doors. With every step they took, she was more aware of her body—her nipples rubbing against the loose fabric of the innermost garment, the way her gait made her vulva jiggle just enough to keep her needy. All that need and arousal was tempered by both fear and a sense of calm.
Calm she had come to associate with James and submitting.
Christiana inched closer to James’s side as Solomon reached out and opened both doors simultaneously. For a moment, the big man was silhouetted by the light coming from the room beyond, his heavily muscled body making quite the show.
Solomon stepped to the side, giving them an unobstructed view. The “dungeon” was massive—the entire wing of the house was this one large room. The place he’d called a dungeon was as far from a dank underground basement as it was possible to be. Instead of dark, cold stone, the room was light and airy with pale cream-colored walls and a floor of massive, pale tiles. The room was illuminated by candles—hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand. They sat in mirror-backed wall sconces, in large glass hurricane lamps, and in candelabras made of driftwood. There were windows in the ocean-facing wall, and the moon hung heavy over the water, casting a blue-white light that contrasted elegantly with the gold light of the candles.
At first glance she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the setting, but with the second glance she took in what was going on in the elegant room. It may not have looked like a dungeon, but there were plenty of chains.
A bare section of wall between the windows had four chains dangling from it. Near the center of the room was a freestanding structure that looked almost like a pergola—four posts supported a series of beams. Hanging from the beams were dozens of chains. Chains dangled from wooden chairs and spilled out of woven baskets.
In addition to the plethora of chairs, there were several freestanding St. Andrew’s Crosses spaced throughout the room, at least one spanking bench, and a pommel horse like the one they’d used on their third night together.
And then there were the people.
Two of the St. Andrew’s Crosses were currently occupied by barefooted individuals—subs. One wore a full bodysuit, including a hood and gloves, that covered everything but her breasts. Two men stood near her, drinks in hand. They were chatting, and might have looked like they were at a normal cocktail party, if not for the fact that one of them was naked, the other wearin
g only boxers, and each was idly fondling a breast with the hand not holding a glass. Even from here Christiana could see the sub twitch and jump as her nipples were plucked and rolled, pinched and pulled.
A man in linen pants and an unbuttoned short-sleeved white shirt led a woman toward the pergola structure. She was completely naked, with a bright white gag in her mouth. Her arms were folded together behind her back and bound that way with white rope. The master led her by a thin gold chain attached to a piercing in her labia.
There were a few wide, low daybed-style chaises. The one closest to the door had a group of five people all clustered on it, the hands of the Doms roaming over the naked skin of the two women. One woman wore black briefs and electrical tape on her nipples. The men touched her everywhere but those spots. She was baring her teeth in an expression of…frustration.
Christiana sucked in a break. “Oh.”
James looked at her. “Is it too much?”
She turned to face him. “I just realized subs only get touched on skin that’s bare. Nowhere else. So if I keep all this on…”
James smiled. “Ah, I wondered when that would occur to you. Ingenious, isn’t it? I do enjoy these parties.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “How long until you’re begging me to let you strip naked? If you’re naughty, I might make you keep your clothes on all night.”
“This is diabolical,” Christiana yelped.
“Manners,” Solomon said softly. “Once you enter my dungeon, failing to use your manners and address your Master properly will result in punishment.”
“Punishment, Sir?” she asked Solomon.
The big man folded his arms. “I’ll find you a nice terrycloth robe to wear. That’s the punishment.”
James laughed and slid his arm around her waist. “Ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
Together they stepped over the threshold into the dungeon.
“Take off your shirt,” James commanded.
Christiana leapt to obey. Finally. After a half an hour of watching what others in the room were doing, her whole body was aching with need. She and James were on one of the large chaises, which was about the length and size of a twin bed and had a single rolled, padded arm at one end. There was a matching chaise opposite them, and she’d watched as another sub—a lovely, dark-haired Hispanic woman—was ordered to kneel on the seat and lean over the arm. Then her Dom—a black man wearing soft gray slacks—hiked up her skirt, baring her ass. She wasn’t wearing a collar, and when her Dom walked away, several other men came over, reaching out to fondle and touch her. One even took advantage of her position to give her a light spanking.