Scott’s voice brought me back to the present. “Tonight, I’m controlling everything you see, everything you feel.”
“You control the horizontal and the vertical?” The joke was out before I realized I was speaking, and when Scott cleared his throat, a chill ran right through me. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
He was quiet for a long, nerve-wracking moment. Panic coiled itself around my spine. I wanted to apologize again, but his silence didn’t invite me to speak.
Finally, he went on. “I’m controlling all of your senses tonight. Starting with your sight.” There was movement behind me, and a second later, he lowered the blue satin belt over my eyes. He wrapped it around and tied it snugly. Flecks of light still peeked through the bottom of it, but I was, for all intents and purposes, blind.
“Is that too tight?” he asked.
“No, Sir.”
“Face me.”
I did. For the longest time, he was still and silent. I waited. I was not permitted to move or speak, to seek him out or draw away from him, so I simply waited.
Warm, gentle contact with my cheek made me jump and suck in a breath. His hand didn’t move.
“Did I startle you?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“Answer me quickly and truthfully, Kristen. Did I startle you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Am I making you nervous?”
I released a breath. “No, Sir.”
“You’ve given up your sight to me.” His fingers traced the edge of my jaw before continuing down the side of my neck. “Do you trust me not to take advantage of that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His thumb extended across the front of my throat, a gesture that would have doubled my pulse had it been anyone else. I swallowed hard, the subtle ripple against his hand making me even more aware of his gentle hold on my neck.
“I won’t choke you,” he’d said last night. “I might put a hand on your throat to restrain you, if you’re comfortable with that, but anything that cuts off blood or air flow? No way.”
Even without those words seared in my memory, I knew he wouldn’t tighten his grasp. There would be no more pressure than was needed to let me know his hand was there. It was a touch, not a threat.
In a low, gentle voice, he said, “Do you trust me not to harm you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said without a second thought.
“Good. I demand respect and submission, not fear. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His hand moved down until his fingertips paused at the hollow of my throat. They followed the ridges of my collarbone, hooking on my robe and pushing it aside until it slid off my shoulder and partway down my arm. Then he did the same to the other side, and I held my breath as he my robe fell into a pool of cool, discarded fabric around my bare feet.
I shivered. The room was warm, but the exposure created a chill beneath my skin. Thrilling, but unnerving.
“Take everything else off.”
I did so without question. My panties landed on top of my robe. A second later, my bra. Between the cool air touching my skin and the exhilaration flooding my veins within, my nipples hardened almost instantly. Being naked in front of Scott was… hot. Unnerving. Thrilling.
“Unbutton my shirt,” he said.
I raised my hand and reached for his shirt, then realized I didn’t know how close he was. I didn’t think he’d like me pawing at him until I found a seam to guide me to the buttons, so I withdrew my hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I—” I hesitated, drawing an unsteady breath. I wasn’t sure if I should ask. If I’d be out of line.
“Kristen?”
Well, if I’m going to push boundaries and make mistakes, might as well do it now while he’s still patient. “Will you guide my hands, Sir?”
He said nothing. His fingers closed around my wrists, and warm relief rushed through me when he laid my hands on his lapels.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered. I started on the first button.
Without my sight, this simple task took on a whole different sensory dimension. The almost imperceptible hiss of my fingers across fabric. The near silent pop when a particularly stubborn button finally cooperated. The slow, steady rhythm of his quiet breathing, a rhythm I caught myself mirroring.
As I untucked his shirt from his jeans, I wondered if he was hard like he’d been last night when I’d done this very thing. There wasn’t quite enough space under my blindfold to sneak a look, and though it was tempting, I dared not brush my hand over the front of his jeans.
When he told me to, I pushed his shirt over his shoulders just as he’d done with my robe, and my fingers encountered hot skin. No T-shirt underneath this time, no other layer of fabric to keep me from touching him. Imagining his bare torso in front of me, I tried—not very successfully—to breathe. In my mind’s eye, I saw the tattoos running down his sides. I couldn’t remember exactly what each character looked like, but I filled in the memory as best I could, curling my fingers into loose fists as I fought the temptation to touch him.
“Take a step back,” he ordered. When I did, he followed and repeated the order. We kept moving like this—my steps at his command—until my calf bumped my bed.
“Sit, then swing your legs up on to the bed.”
I did, feeling around to make sure I wasn’t too close to the edge.
He ran his fingers through my hair, his hand stopping at the back of my neck. “Lie back.” He kept his hand there as I obeyed his order, the gentle support guiding me down until my head landed softly on the pillow, assuring me I would neither fall nor hit anything. The comforter was cool against my skin, softly emphasizing I was naked from head to toe.
“I’m going to move away from you for a minute,” he said. “I’m not leaving you, and I won’t leave the room, but I’ll be out of your reach. Are you okay with that?”
I gave him my affirmative, and his hand slipped out from under my neck. Though his footsteps were nearly silent and my vision was still obscured by blue satin, I had no trouble following his movements. Around the foot of the bed. To the other side of the bed. The mattress accommodating weight as he joined me on the bed.
Then he was beside me. Lying on his side, I guessed. Hot skin brushed my arm and denim brushed my bare thigh, the contradiction of flesh and fabric emphasizing that he was still partly dressed, but partly undressed as well. His abs, his shoulders, and his tattoos, they were all uncovered beside me, visible to anyone not blinded as I was. I wanted to beg him to restore my sight, if only so I could see his body.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Because we’re going to be like this for a while.” He shifted slightly. “Now, a lot of people think kink is all about pain. And pain is fun, but it’s not the only sensation we can play with. It can be ticklish.” He trailed a barely there fingertip up my side, laughing softly when I squirmed. “It can be hot or cold.” He blew a cool breath across my nipple. “Or, it can be nothing at all.” He broke all contact and went completely quiet.
Long seconds ticked by.
He was so still and silent, I didn’t even think he was breathing.
More seconds. More heartbeats. More silence.
At last, he let out a breath, the rush of air warming my skin. In the same moment, I released the breath I’d been holding the whole time, having waited for his implicit permission to exhale.
“So there are sensations I can give and deny you as I see fit,” he said. “Then there’s restraint. I can bind you with ropes, chains, cuffs, even my hands. Physically bend you to my will.” The backs of his fingers caressed my face, and I shivered. Such a tender touch even as he spoke of force and bondage. He went on. “Or I can let your submission be your restraint. Order you not to move, not to speak.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “Not to come.”
A tingle worked its way up my spine. Every word he spoke disturbed the air above my lip
s, so I knew his mouth was close. Not close enough for me to feel his breath, but close enough for me to catch the light scent of his aftershave. He was teasing me again, I was sure of it. Taunting me with the promise of a kiss which would be pulled back a split second before a point of no return.
“By controlling what you feel,” he said, “by extension, I control your orgasms. And what I can’t control by giving or denying stimulation, I will control through your submission. I decide when you come and when you don’t. No matter how I touch you, you will not come until and unless I explicitly allow it. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” When he spoke again, a subtle lilt added some sly humor to his tone. “Of course, I’ve chosen not to make it easy for you to obey me tonight. After all, when I control your senses as I do now, denying you any stimulus except what I expressly allow, then even the slightest touch is more intense.” He made a light circle around my nipple with his fingertip. “Isn’t it?”
My back arched off the bed. “Yes, Sir.”
“So you can imagine the intensity,” he whispered, moving close enough now that his breath touched my lips. “when it’s more than just a slight touch, can’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I can.”
The warm breath of laughter made me shiver. “No, I assure you, you can’t.”
With that, he kissed me. In the space of a heartbeat, the world was reduced to where his lips and mine made gentle, unmoving contact. It became the focal point of my entire universe, drawing every last fragment of my awareness to it.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss as he snatched my wrist and pinned it to the bed. My mind swirled with confusion and panic.
“Did I give you permission for that?” His low growl told me I’d misstepped, but how? My heart pounded. I hadn’t had a conscious thought or performed a conscious action since before he kissed me. What had I done?
“Answer me.” His hand tightened around my wrist. A piece fell into place: when he’d grabbed me, I’d been reaching for him. Touching him, if the vague tingling in my fingertips was to be believed. With neither realization on my part nor permission on his, I’d reached up to touch him while he kissed me.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“You’re still learning.” His voice softened and allowed me to release held breath. “I won’t punish you this time.”
I exhaled hard, not caring in the least if he saw or heard how much relief I drew from this amnesty.
“After all,” he said, “I’m not making this easy for you, am I?”
“No, Sir,” I whispered.
Still holding my wrist, he kissed me again. At first, his lips didn’t move at all. They were simply against mine, gentle yes, I’m touching you contact like his hand across my throat earlier. Then, his lips parted and the tip of his tongue coaxed my lips apart. I wasn’t sure how passive I was required to be, if I was expected or forbidden to return his kiss. Testing the water, I let my tongue graze his. When he didn’t pull away, I tried to deepen the kiss even more, but this time he broke contact.
For a moment, we were still again. The warmth of his skin and breath were still close to my lips, but he remained out of my reach. He came back down to me and met my lips with the same unmoving here I am touch as before. Again, he parted his lips. Again, he parted mine with the tip of his tongue. Again I met his tongue with mine, but this time left it to him to decide how deep and how long this kiss would be. Evidently satisfied I knew my place, he kissed me more passionately, more aggressively. I returned it in kind, but followed his lead.
He released my wrist and ran his hand along the top of my leg, fingertips drifting between my thighs as he worked his way down to my knee. Once there, he hooked his fingers under my knee and drew it up and toward him. With my leg resting against him, his erection was undeniable and left no doubt at all that he was as aroused as I was.
He broke the kiss and shifted, probably resting on his side again.
“Touch yourself.” The terse order broke the silence and sent a shock of panic and uncertainty through me.
“What?” I hesitated, then quickly added, “Sir?”
“Show me what you do for yourself when you’re alone.”
My face burned. He was so matter-of-fact and straightforward about it, almost flippant in his assumption that not only did I masturbate like everyone else, but I would do so for him.
And he was right on both counts. The former because it was true, the latter because my obedient fingers were on my pussy before I’d even thought my embarrassment through. He was, after all, my Master.
I’d never touched myself in the presence of a man before, least of all at his command. Matt had certainly seen me do it more than a few times, but he was across the alley. He wasn’t right here beside me, and I never knew for sure if he was there, if he saw.
Scott was here. He saw. He knew.
The mattress shifted beside me, as did his presence. He must have been getting comfortable or adjusting his position somehow. I’d never been so acutely aware of someone. I couldn’t see him, I heard him only when he allowed me to, but he was undeniably there. My exposure and his scrutiny were almost unbearable, especially as I tried to figure out where he was looking. Was he watching my fingers? My face? Did he catch the way my lips parted with a ragged breath, or was his gaze so fixed on my hand that he caught the way it trembled just then? Was he grinning, or did he frown as the tip of his tongue ran slowly across his bottom lip while he considered his next move?
“You slowed down,” he said.
My cheeks burned again. I’d been distracted, forgotten what I was doing. “I’m sorry, Sir.” I circled faster with my fingers. Just knowing he was watching, that he was paying close enough attention to notice a change in speed, turned me on even more. Waves of cool fire radiated from my clit, intensifying with every sweep of my fingers. I chewed my lip, whimpering softly as my pussy tightened and the world around me slowly fell to pieces.
“Remember the rules,” he said. “You’re not to come until I allow it.”
I bit back a frustrated sound and took a few breaths as I slowed my fingers down, nearly bringing them to a stop as I let myself return to earth. Once I was certain I was again in control, I picked up speed, desperately trying to strike a balance between pleasing him and keeping myself from coming. In mere moments, I was at the brink once more, and slowed down.
“Keep going.”
“I’ll come, Sir,” I moaned. “If I don’t, I’ll—”
“No, you won’t. I haven’t given you permission to come, so you won’t. Will you?”
“No, Sir,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Then don’t stop or slow down.”
I took a deep breath. I moved my fingers per his command, but my touch was lighter now, the one concession I could make to keep my orgasm back without Scott noticing.
His fingertips drifted down my forearm to my wrist, then onto the back of my hand. His touch was light, just enough to make contact without hindering my motions. Not enough to hinder, but just enough to distract me.
“Don’t stop what you’re doing.” The whispered command was sharp, offering no choice but immediate, unquestioning obedience.
I found my rhythm again, moaning with both frustration and arousal as my orgasm built quickly, threatening release with every turn of my fingers. Applying less pressure didn’t even help much at this point.
His fingers slid across my hand and followed the length of my middle and third fingers until his hand completely covered mine. Molded against mine. His nearness to my pussy, with only my own fingers dividing him from my clit, turned me on more than the slow circles I made. There was something deliciously erotic about his first time touching me like this being through my own hand. About him being so, so close to my clit when I was so, so close to a climax.
Then his fingers continued down mine until they slid along my slick pussy lips. My back lifted off the bed
, and the blindfold became moot because my eyes were screwed shut anyway.
I gasped as two fingers slipped inside me. As they did, his palm rested on top of my fingers, pressing them just a little harder against my clit. Another moan escaped my lips.
“You’re not coming yet, are you, Kristen?”
“No, Sir.” My teeth chattered and I nearly choked on the simple, automatic phrase.
“Good girl. You’ll come when I say you’ll come, and not a moment sooner.” His fingers moved faster, the heel of his hand pushing my own fingers against my clit. “Am I understood?”
“Yes, M—” The words fell to a moan. I wondered when he’d taken over the rhythm, when he’d gone from harmonizing with my motions to dictating both speed and intensity. He’d subtly removed my ability to control how much pressure I applied, and in doing so, he’d taken the last safeguard I had against an orgasm. I had only his command and my sheer willpower to keep me from coming now.
He cleared his throat, reminding me of the unanswered question.
My voice trembled as I said, “Yes, Sir.”
“I know you’re close,” he murmured in my ear. “I know you want me to give you permission. You don’t think you can hold back a moment longer, do you?”
“No, Sir.” The words came out as little more than a rush of breath.
“You can.” He pressed a little harder against my G-spot. “You can, and you will, because you want to obey me, don’t you?”
“Yes… Sir…”
Madness was a breath away. The faster our hands moved, the higher he sent me, the closer my inevitable orgasm came, and the less I could hold back. Every inch of my body tingled and trembled, every nerve ending pulsing with pent up energy that threatened to make me shatter. I’d never been so close to such a powerful release, been simultaneously given and denied so much.
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