Light Switch

by Lauren Gallagher

  With Malia evicted, Scott and I faced each other in silence. My stomach fluttered with habitual nervousness, even as I reminded myself that I was in charge tonight. He held my gaze, and I had to force myself to hold his. I was the Domme, and I’d be damned if I looked away first.

  I took a drink. As I set my glass on the table by the rack of whips and floggers, I said, “Unroll your sleeves.”

  We held eye contact for a second longer. Then he dropped his gaze to his right sleeve, watching his fingers loosen the neat roll. He smoothed the fabric down to his wrist. He held the cuff together for a moment, as if he was about to button it, but then let it fall and went for his other sleeve.

  With both sleeves unrolled, he looked at me again, silently awaiting my next commend.

  I picked up my glass, keeping my eyes fixed on him as I took another drink. He still held my gaze, but with much more effort now.

  I nodded toward the rack of floggers. “Pick one.”

  Taking a deep, ragged breath, he went to the rack. He was still for a moment, only his eyes moving as he scanned the various implements. I had no doubt he was familiar with every last one of his “toys”, even if he was usually the wielder, not the receiver.

  To my surprise, he chose one with longer, knotted tails. Both the length and the knots meant less thud and more sting. A lot more sting. If I hit him too hard, I could even break the skin.

  In spite of my reservations, I held out my hand. He laid the handle across my palm. For a moment, I just looked at it, turning the cat o’ nine tails in my hand.

  I thought of the way his shoulder had dipped and a shudder had run through him when he’d told me about Jeanette. “She got carried away one night,” he’d said, “with a cat o’ nine tails.”

  “Scott, are you sure about this?” I didn’t care if my Domme persona slipped momentarily. I had to know.

  He looked me in the eye and nodded.

  “But it’s—”

  “That’s the kind I like.” He smiled. “I trust you.”

  I chewed my lip for a moment before finally whispering, “Okay.” I gave the implement in my hand one last look, then met his eyes. “I assume you’ll want me warming up with something a bit gentler?”

  “Yes, please.” Our eyes met for a split second. Then he dropped his gaze and added, “Mistress.”

  “Stand facing the cross.” I gestured at the Saint Andrew’s Cross with the handle of the cat o’ nine tails.

  He did as I ordered, swallowing hard as he stared down the device he’d built with his own hands. He took and released another deep breath. I neither spoke nor moved for a moment, letting the silence unnerve him. Judging by the occasional catch of his breath and the way he subtly shifted his weight, it worked.

  “Get on your knees.”

  He glanced at me for confirmation, but quickly looked down again. As I’d commanded, he went to his knees.

  “Keep your heels together,” I said as I picked a softer flogger from the rack. “Knees apart so you don’t lose your balance. And don’t sit back on your heels. Stay all the way up.”

  He adjusted his position.

  “Unbutton your shirt.”

  As he obeyed, his hands trembled, and he cursed under his breath as the buttons refused to cooperate.

  I smacked the handle of the flogger across my palm. “Faster, Scott. You don’t have all night.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he murmured, and his shaking hands hastened their efforts. A second later, the last button was apart.

  “Take it off and let it fall behind you.”

  He shrugged it off. Thank God he couldn’t see me just then, because the sight of his bare shoulders and tattooed back made me bite my lip to keep from whimpering. I’d seen him naked so many times now, and I still couldn’t get over how fucking gorgeous he was. That, and there was something indescribably sexy about a barefoot man wearing nothing but jeans. On his knees, head bowed and waiting for my next command? Even more so.

  I recovered quickly, though, and picked up his shirt.

  “Put your hands behind your back.”

  He did, lacing his fingers over the small of his back. I wrapped his shirt around his wrists and knotted it above his hands. Now he was bound, but having his hands where they were served another purpose. I still wasn’t completely confident with my aim, especially with something like the cat o’ nine tails he’d chosen, and putting his arms this way protected his kidneys while leaving the rest of his back exposed.

  I ran my nails lightly across his shoulders, not even pressing hard enough to color his skin. “Tell me your safe words again.”

  He took a breath, his teeth chattering as he tilted his head in response to my nails on the side of his neck. “Red to stop. Yellow to back off.” He paused, then quickly added, “Mistress.”

  “Good.”

  I spent about ten minutes with the softer flogger, warming up his skin and my arm. When his back had turned a satisfying shade of pink, I set the flogger down and picked up the cat o’ nine tails.

  The tails rattled against each other. Scott pulled in a sharp breath as I stepped behind him. While I stood silently, neither speaking nor moving, he waited. His breathing stayed even for the most part, but the occasional sharp inhalation or ragged exhalation betrayed his otherwise hidden nerves. When I slid the flogger’s tails over my palm, he shuddered.

  Again I was still. After long a silence, one that probably seemed a hundred times longer for him than for me, I raised the flogger and brought it down on my hand. The slap of leather on skin made him flinch. Every muscle in his back and shoulders quivered. When I hit my hand again, his startle was even more pronounced, as if he’d been absolutely certain I meant it that time.

  Stillness. Silence. Before me, he tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, those beautiful shoulders twitching and trembling as he anticipated my next move.

  I raised the cat o’ nine tails and, as lightly as I could brought it down just below his shoulder. Then the other. Not hard enough to mark his skin, but enough to warrant a sharp hiss of breath. It was caution more than the need to tease him; the silvery scars on his shoulder held me back, keeping me from letting him have it.

  I hit him harder, and he moaned. After a few strokes, harder. He grunted and flinched, but the next hit resulted in little more than a sharp exhalation. The pink in his skin deepened as I struck him again and again. With a little more force behind it, the cat o’ nine tails began raising thin, faint welts.

  I stopped. Waited. His shoulders bunched tighter, tighter, then dropped with the release of his breath. When he’d let his guard down, I hit him again, this time lighter than before.

  A frustrated growl emerged from the back of his throat.

  When I hit him again, I did it hard. He moaned and his balance wavered slightly. He adjusted his stance, putting his knees an inch or so further apart. With the next strike, he didn’t budge except for the trembling of his shoulders.

  After a few minutes, I stopped again. His quivering back and shoulders were flushed except down the center of his spine, the deepening pink scored by thin welts. Sweat curled the ends of his hair, and an occasional drop slid like a tear down his skin and over his tattoos.

  I moved closer to him, my heels clicking on the hard floor. Though he kept his head bowed, he turned it slightly, probably listening to determine where I was.

  I leaned down and blew a cool breath on the base of his neck. He gasped, his spine straightening. He shivered as I ran my fingertips down his back, and he groaned when I raked my nails up his sides.

  I stepped back and resumed flogging him. My strokes were gentler now, barely slapping against his well-beaten skin. I thought he moaned, but then realized it was an aggravated growl. Grinning to myself, I laid a few more light strokes across his back.

  “Do it harder, Goddammit,” he snarled. His posture instantly stiffened. What little I could see of his face tightened into a grimace. He probably knew he’d misstepped before the words were completely off hi
s tongue, but I wasn’t going to let him off easily.

  I said nothing as I stepped up behind him. My footfalls sounded menacing as they echoed off the walls of the otherwise silent room.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he said quickly.

  “But it did happen.” I ran the handle of the cat o’ nine tails down his back. “I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here, Scott.” I draped the tails in front of him and slowly drew them up his chest.

  “It won’t happen again, Mistress.” He shuddered, tilting his head as the tails slithered over his shoulder.

  I said nothing as I combed my fingers through his hair. The muscles in his neck and shoulders twitched, probably expecting me to grab his hair and yank his head back. The more I silently played with his hair, the more his body tensed.

  “Are you going to be mouthy again?” I asked finally.

  “No, Mistress.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He swallowed. “Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry.” The tremor in his voice sent a tremor through me. In spite of his momentary rebellion, he was under my control, at my mercy, and he knew it. Just as I had with Damien, I understood what he got out of playing the Dom. The trust and surrender of my submissive was as arousing as it was empowering.

  I rested my hand on the back of his neck. “I’ll let it go this time. But don’t let it happen again.”

  His shoulders dropped. “I won’t. Thank you, Mistress.”

  I stepped back and raised the cat o’ nine tails again.

  The longer I went on, falling into a rhythmic pattern of striking first his left side, then his right, the more his muscles relaxed. Each impact of the tails made his whole body waver as if his bones were liquefying. His head stayed bowed, and whenever he spoke at my command, his voice was slurred.

  A dull ache crept into my elbow and shoulder. I didn’t trust my aim enough to use my left hand, so it was time to change things around a little.

  “Stand up.”

  He rose on shaking legs while I set the cat o’ nine tails down and picked up my drink. I walked around him. The only sounds were his breathing, my sharp footsteps, and the clink of ice, the few cubes that hadn’t yet melted, against the inside of my glass. He didn’t look at me, didn’t raise his head, just tensed every time the ice rattled.

  I stopped behind him. With my free hand, I untied the knot I’d made with his shirt. The shirt fell to the floor and his hands dropped to his sides. He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to one side, then the other, probably getting rid of a crick or a cramp. He flexed and straightened his wrists, then did the same with his fingers.

  I waited until he was still again. When he was, I pressed my glass against the small of his back. He released a choked, startled sound and his posture stiffened. When his startled reaction had passed, I drew my glass up his back, grinning as he shivered and tensed every time cold met new skin.

  “Cold?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said through clenched teeth.

  I lifted the glass off his skin. “Bedroom.”

  He didn’t hesitate, turning and starting for the door. As I followed him across the hall, his gait was a little slower than usual. At first I thought he took every step gingerly, but as he made a similarly sluggish gesture out of running his hand through his hair, I realized it was lethargy. So I wasn’t the only one who felt like the life had been sucked out of me after a flogging session. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just… odd.

  Before I could get the bedroom door closed, the cat dashed past me. Scott followed her with glazed eyes, but no response registered on his face when she jumped up onto the bed.

  “Weren’t you told you don’t belong in here?” I put her under my arm and heaved her out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her before she could give me the evil eye.

  I faced Scott. He met my eyes for a split second, then quickly shifted his downward. I handed him my glass, and we stood in silence for a moment while he drained it.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he whispered, handing the glass back.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “You’re doing well, Scott.”

  He smiled, meeting my eyes for a second. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  I rattled the ice in the glass enough to make him shiver, then said, “Take everything off.”

  He stripped out of his remaining clothes. I bit my lip. If ever there was a view that never got old, it was an aroused, naked Scott. Jesus, you’re beautiful.

  My glass, which contained nothing but a few ice cubes now, clinked on the nightstand. With the same hand, I reached for his cock. His eyes widened and his lips parted as I stroked him gently with cold fingers.

  “Do you like that?” I asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said, again through gritted teeth.

  “Even with the cold?”

  He dug his teeth into his bottom lip. “Yes, Mistress.” The coldness of my skin wore off the longer I stroked him. I didn’t want him to get used to my touch, so I moved my hand a little faster to keep him off guard. He gasped, screwing his eyes shut.

  “Unbutton my shirt,” I said before he’d had a chance to recover.

  His eyes flew open. How the hell am I supposed to do that while you’re touching me like that? was etched into his slack jaw and furrowed brow.

  I raised my eyebrows. Was I unclear?

  His Adam’s apple bobbed and, with shaking hands, he reached for the first button of my blouse. It came apart easily, as did the second, but when he went for the third, I squeezed his cock and stroked faster. He closed his eyes for a moment, hand faltering briefly. He quickly collected himself, though, and continued through the buttons.

  I released him and shrugged out of my shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

  “Bra,” I said.

  He hesitated for a moment, probably wondering if I was going to turn around to give him better access. When I didn’t, he leaned forward and reached around me. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes as his fingers fought with the clasp.

  “Look at me.”

  He did, and his fingers fumbled a little more. Finally, the clasp came apart, and I didn’t miss the relieved breath he released when it did.

  I took my bra off and dropped it on top of my shirt. With that out of the way, I turned to get a condom out of the nightstand.

  I held it out to him. “Put that on.”

  His breath caught. With an unsteady hand, he took the condom, and as he obeyed, I got out of the rest of my clothes.

  I thought about getting on top, but when I remembered the welts on his back, I thought better of it. He liked pain, but even the softest sheets might be unpleasantly abrasive against skin that raw.

  I laid on my back and gestured for him to join me in bed. Again he hesitated, but as always, obeyed. At my command, he got on top, sucking in a breath as I guided his cock to my pussy. A low groan escaped his lips as he slid into me.

  Once he was all the way in, I hooked one leg around him and held him there.

  “You’re going to fuck me. Slowly.” I ran my nails down his sides, waiting for him to shiver and bite his lip before I went on. “You’re going to fuck me, but if you come, Scott, this evening is over. Understood?”

  He started to reply, but I tightened my pussy around him, and he could only close his eyes and exhale.

  “Answer me, Scott.”

  “Yes, I understand, Mistress.”

  I slid my leg off his hip so he could move again. As he started to withdraw, I said, “Remember: slowly.”

  He nodded. His shoulders and abs quivered as he obeyed my command. Every stroke was smooth, controlled, and if the way his cheek rippled with the clenching of his jaw was any indication, torture. Perfect.

  I reached for the glass on the nightstand. The ice cubes rattled and Scott gulped, his rhythm faltering for a split second before he recovered. He watched my hand warily, then grimaced when I held the small piece of ice a couple of inches above his back between his shoulder blades. W
ith every passing second, he cringed a little more, his entire body tensing and trembling.

  I knew the instant the first drop of cold water hit his back: he exhaled hard and a violent tremor surged through him, driving him deeper inside me. A second drop made him pull in a sharp breath. A third made him shiver. When I pressed the ice cube against his skin, he whimpered and shuddered. I drew it up the back of his neck, then brought it around to the front, tracing the underside of his jaw before letting the ice slide down the front of his throat. He continued to fuck me slowly, cringing and grimacing from both exertion and cold.

  When the piece in my hand had melted, I reached for more. He gasped and moaned as I ran the ice over his abs, his chest, along his collarbone, up the side of his neck. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath and letting his head fall forward. Only when that piece of ice had melted did he relax.

  “Sit up,” I said.

  He pushed himself up on shaking arms. I reached between us and circled my clit with two fingertips. Scott gasped and closed his eyes.

  “Keep moving,” I said sharply. “And don’t close your eyes. I didn’t say you could look away.”

  He opened his eyes. His faltering rhythm recovered. “I’m s—” He paused, wetting his lips. “I’m sorry, Mistress.” His eyes flicked back and forth between my face and my fingers, probably trying to focus on whichever was less likely to hasten his orgasm.

  “Look at me, Scott.”

  Our eyes met, and I could tell by the furrow of his brow that I’d picked the more frustrating option for him.

  I circled faster. My pussy tightened around his cock, and he groaned. “Does that turn you on, Scott?”

  He exhaled hard. “Yes, Mistress. It does.”

  “Good. Now fuck me faster.”

  In spite of the frustrated sound that escaped his lips, he obeyed, thrusting faster.

  Breathing in short, shallow gasps, I whispered, “Yes, just like that, Scott.”

  He shuddered, biting his lip and groaning again.

  “Don’t come yet.” I made no effort to mask how close I was to doing just that, though. My voice came out as a breathless moan that I was sure drove him insane, which was precisely my plan. “Don’t come yet, Scott, don’t you dare.”