by Jessi Bond
I was going to make her tremble.
Normally I’m more cautious with women I’ve just met, but the look in her eyes was intoxicating. I love experienced submissives, the way they slip effortlessly into the role, responding to your every word and movement, like an intricate, well-rehearsed dance. But there’s nothing quite like the first time. Knowing that I would be the first one to see Madison come alive in ways she’d never thought possible...
Well. I wasn’t going to waste any more time.
I stood up briskly, taking the few strides to close the distance between us. She was startled, but she didn’t flinch, just looked up at me expectantly.
“Madison, I want you to understand a few things.” In one swift movement, I knelt down on the floor by her feet. Her forehead creased slightly in the middle. She wasn’t expecting this. She wasn’t comfortable looking down at me, but she was going to have to learn. I wouldn’t begin our scene until I was confident that she understood the terms of our agreement, and I had to send the right signals before I began. If I asked her any questions while I loomed over her like I was already her Master, they’d sound like demands. It was crucial that she understand she was still in charge.
She was still frowning a little. I looked up at her, resisting the urge to rest my hand on her knee. To caress her smooth skin, and then slide a little higher. Higher.
Not yet.
I went on. “Like I said, if you say stop, I’ll stop. I don’t want you to hesitate. If it makes you more comfortable, we can agree on a different word.”
“No,” she said, softly. “That’s fine. Stop is fine.”
I smiled gently. “I won’t be disappointed. If things get too intense, just tell me.”
“Okay.” She took a long, shaky breath. “I promise I will.”
“Good,” I said, standing and extending my hand down to her. “Then come.”
I led her down the stairs, slowly, letting the anticipation build. When I pushed the door open, she gasped slightly.
“Are you...” Her eyes darted immediately to the St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the back wall, the undisputed focal point of the room - rich, black leather, massive, imposing.
“Not today,” I smiled, darkly, letting my tongue dart out to wet my lips. “I like to take things slow.”
She shuddered, jerking her eyes away from the cross and looking around the rest of the room. The ornate chair caught her interest - looking like an ordinary antique, at first, until you realize it’s specially designed for bondage. The array of whips and floggers hanging on the wall. The plush bed in the corner of the room, partially shrouded in curtains. She took all of this in, all of this and more, her eyes finally settling curiously on two closed doors on the other side of the room.
“What are those?” she breathed, glancing at me, then back to the doors.
“You’ll find out,” I promised her, stepping very close, so there was almost no space between our bodies. “When I want you to. Not a moment sooner.”
She looked at me expectantly, biting her lower lip. Waiting for orders.
“Take off your shoes,” I told her. “Place them by the wall, over there, and then come back and kneel on the floor where you’re standing now.”
I pointed to the spot just next to the St. Andrew’s cross. She stepped out of her high heels and carried them over, hanging from the tips of her fingers, placing them carefully on the plush carpet and then walking back as I’d told her to. She knelt, delicately, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.
Taking a silk blindfold down from the shelf, I unfolded it in front of her, making a show of it. She swallowed hard, her fingers digging into the carpet.
“Are you going to train me?” she whispered, as I came close and kneeled down behind her. I saw the goosebumps rise on her skin as the silk covered her eyes. “Isn’t that what you call it?”
“It is,” I said, letting my fingers brush against her cheek. “But no. Not today. Not yet.” I rested my hands on her shoulders, gently at first, then digging my thumbs into spots on either side of her shoulder-blades where nearly everyone carries tension. She had knots, all right, big firm ones that didn’t want to yield under my fingers. She moaned softly, letting her head drop forward.
“When you’re with me, I’ll always take good care of you,” I said. “Always.”
A few minutes later, when she was relaxed, I stood up and stepped away. Immediately, her head jerked up and she turned it slowly from side to side, as if she were hoping to pick up some sense of where I’d gone. But I was completely still, far enough away that she couldn’t hear me breathing.
“Hello?”
Right then, I could see the realization as it struck her. She didn’t even know my name.
A moment later, her shoulders relaxed again.
“Sir? Are you still there?”
Standing there, watching her, I couldn’t help but smile.
She somehow instinctively knew that it would be presumptuous to call me Master. She’d chosen an honorific that made sense, with only a moment’s hesitation. Without having to be told.
I waited for a few moments longer. Idly, I wondered how long she would stay there, restrained by nothing but my words.
Finally, I went to the coiled ropes on the wall and picked one of my favorites down from its hook. It was a deep, royal purple - not that she’d appreciate it - but I thought it would contrast nicely against her skin.
“How long do we have?” I asked, finally. Her head whirled around in the direction of my voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Until your phone rings.”
She laughed softly. “My friend should be calling in about half an hour to make sure I’m okay.”
“Are you?” I came a little closer, winding the rope around my hands. I have a bit of an addiction to theatrics, even when my audience is blindfolded. Maybe, just maybe, she could hear the sound of the fibers rubbing against my skin.
Another soft laugh, this one more like an exhale. “Better than okay,” she said. “Much better.”
“All you’re doing is kneeling on the floor. Blindfolded.” Again, I knelt down behind her, watching the way her neck arched ever-so-subtly, drawing her head closer to me. “That doesn’t sound very exciting, does it?”
I was teasing her, and she took it gracefully.
“Not when you put it like that,” she said.
Binding her wrists together, firmly but gently, I listened to the rhythm of her breaths, and briefly allowed myself to get lost in them. There’s something hypnotic about rope-work. I wound them higher, up her arms, drawing her shoulders back, turning her into a beautiful, living, breathing work of art.
When I was finished, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Her chest was thrust forward, her breasts straining at her blouse, and I could see her stiff nipples poking through. One of the buttons across the center of her bust looked as if it might actually give way.
She made a slight whimpering sound.
“Are you all right?” I asked, softly, from my vantage point by the far wall.
“Yes,” she said. “But, it’s just...I feel like my blouse is about to rip open.”
I smiled. “You might lose a button.”
“Can you please...” she wriggled slightly. “It’s just, it’s my favorite blouse.”
“Of course.” Crouching in front of her, I slowly undid the top three buttons, relieving the pressure on the fabric. Inch after inch of porcelain skin was revealed, and the delicate black lace of her bra.
I stepped away after that, waiting for a few more moments. She kept shifting, stretching a little and trying to find a comfortable spot without moving too much.
“Does anything hurt?” I asked, when just enough time had passed that she might suspect I’d left the room. Again, she jerked at the surprise of hearing my voice, turning her face in my direction.
“My shoulders, a little,” she said. “My chest muscles. But no, not really. It just aches a little, like...”
she stopped, and smiled. “Yoga, or stretching, or something. It’s fine.”
“Good.”
I was silent for a little while, until her phone rang, right on cue.
Walking swiftly to where her purse sat in the corner, I dug the phone out and hit “answer.” I held it up to the side of her head, without saying anything.
“Hi,” she said, softly, her lips curving up into a secretive smile. “Yes...yes. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
I pulled the phone away and returned in to its home.
Then I went silent and still, for a long time.
Patience is the greatest virtue that a Dom can have.
I didn’t look at my watch. That only makes it seem longer. I watched her, like she wanted, silent, like she wanted. I let her imagine. I let her worry.
After a long time, I walked over to the main door, opened it, and closed it again.
She squirmed. She nibbled her bottom lip, she sighed, but she didn’t call out for me. She didn’t say a word.
While I waited, I read.
Her e-reader was in her purse, too. I could have guessed at some of her favorite books based on what she’d told me, but this way, I could go straight to the source.
The first book on her reading list had come out almost a year ago. Either she was late to the party, or it was something she frequently went back to. I was betting on the latter.
I read, and I learned.
By the time I set the e-reader down, my head was swimming with ideas. Most of them, I wouldn’t dream of doing to a stranger. She’d told me she wanted to be afraid, but everyone has their limits.
Finally, I went to the freezer tucked away in the corner of the room.
Trust.
Trust is central to every BDSM encounter. And trust has to be earned, with time and experience. Madison chose not to distrust me, but that was different. I had to be very careful.
I reached into the freezer and pulled out my weapon of choice.
Making no effort to dampen my footsteps as I approached her, I knelt down quickly and touched the ice cube to her bare chest.
She gasped, then laughed slightly.
“I really thought you were gone,” she said, softly. “I...” She shivered as I traced a wet pathway across her skin. “Ice?”
There was something in her tone. I wanted to grin, but I didn’t let it seep into my voice. “Is that a criticism?”
She swallowed. “No, sir.”
“Disappointment?”
“No, sir.”
I pressed the ice cube against a sensitive spot on her neck, and held it here, until she whimpered.
“No lying,” I said. “That’s against the rules here.”
She sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“Disappointed why? Not sadistic enough for you?” I chuckled darkly.
“Well...” She was still nibbling her lower lip.
I went back to the freezer.
This time, when I touched her, the gasp was different.
She swallowed hard, her muscles tensing, her breathing quickening. “Wait,” she said. “What is that?”
This time I didn’t bother to conceal the smile in my voice. “It’s exactly what it feels like.”
“But I -”
“I’ve been doing some reading,” I interrupted, pressing the flat of the cold knife against the space below her collarbone. “I know what you think about when no one else is around. I know what you’re afraid to ask for.”
I pulled the blade away, before it had a chance to warm up too much from her skin.
“You like men who leave a mark on their submissives,” I said, turning the knife around. “Maybe someday you’ll ask me to brand you.” I rested the spine of the knife lightly against her chest, mindful to angle the tip away. “Or maybe something else.”
Her breathing got even faster, so that I had to make an effort to hold the knife steady as her chest rose and fell.
I pressed gently, drawing the spine of the knife along her skin.
She let out a tiny sound. I knew what it felt like. What she must think I was doing to her. And still, she never told me to stop.
The coldness of the metal tricked her body into feeling the pain of a cut. There are plenty of ways to thoroughly fuck someone, but I’ve always found that the mind fuck can be the best of all.
In the back of her mind, she was certain that I wouldn’t cut her without permission. But that didn’t matter. Enough of her mind, enough of her body, was aware of the possibility.
I was giving her the fear that she craved.
Her lips parted, each breath coming out in a little, panting moan. She’d surrendered herself completely, and so easily. So elegantly.
“You’re a monster,” she breathed, unable to hide the smile twitching at her lips. She needed a little more practice. “What kind of man wants to brand a woman, like property?”
“A very bad man.” Very carefully, I slid the tip of the knife between the blindfold and the side of her head. “And what kind of woman wants to be branded, like property?”
“How could I possibly know that?” She sounded defiant. She was slipping into her role a little better.
“Because that’s what you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. To be owned. Tamed. You’ve always known there was something wild inside you that no man could match. No one could handle you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the midst of our game, I was hitting too close to the truth.
“You don’t do anything halfway, do you? You’re fire and ice. Everything about you runs so deep that most men are afraid of you.” I tugged at the blindfold with the knife, but not quite enough to cut it. “But not me.”
And then, with a jerk, I sliced through the blindfold. It fell away, revealing her face, her beautiful pale-blue eyes, wet with tears.
Wet with rapture.
“I’m the one you should be afraid of,” I whispered, before I captured her mouth with mine.
She kissed me back, frantically, and when we pulled apart, her eyes stayed locked with mine for a moment before she looked down at her chest. A smile spread across her face as she saw nothing but the faint pink line, quickly fading, where I’d drawn the blunt side of knife across her.
“You’re good,” she murmured.
“No,” I said. “I’m very bad. That’s why you’re here.”
Her eyes were wild, her hair coming loose from its bun. I hurried to untie her arms. She’d been restrained long enough. I needed to feel her arms around me, her fingers clawing at my back when I fucked her.
I wanted to bring her to the bed, but as soon as her arms were free she pulled me down onto the carpet, grinding her body against mine. She hooked her leg around my waist, numb to the pain of the blood rushing back into her arms, the aching and tingling of being suddenly freed.
I slid my hand under her skirt and to the place she wanted me. My fingers found smooth flesh, and she was wet, molten, her cunt clenching and squeezing around my fingers the moment I caressed her. She let out a long, low moan.
Before her thighs stopped trembling, I unzipped and pulled out my cock, stiff and straining. I was lightheaded with wanting her, and when she found me and her fingers squeezed my length, I groaned.
She guided me in. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, her legs wrapping tightly around me as I thrust in deep. She moaned, her head thrown back, exposing her neck and throat to me. I closed my hand around the base of it, not pressing down. Just a gentle reminder.
Her hips tilted up to meet me with every thrust. Gradually our movements became less frantic, and we undulated together, with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the rustling of clothes.
This was good. But it wasn’t quite what she wanted. She wasn’t going to say anything, but I knew.
I pulled back, getting up on my knees above her. She let out a small noise of protest, looking up at me with an unasked question in her eyes.
“Get up,” I said, roughly, unbuttoning my shirt. �
�Get up and undress.”
Moving slowly, on shaky limbs, she pulled herself upright and stood before me, still panting slightly. I was naked by now, my clothes in a pile on the floor beside me. But with the way I was looking at her, I made her feel like the naked one.
Her eyes cast down on the floor as she stripped off her blouse, sleeve by sleeve, then stepped out of her ruined skirt.
I waited for her to look up. It wasn’t my intention to make this too easy on her. For as long as I lived, I’d never forget the look on her face when I touched her with that ice cube. She didn’t want this to be easy. She didn’t want me to be nice.
When she was finally able to raise her eyes, they caught for a moment on the center of my body - taking in the whole view, particularly my stiff prick, still throbbing with want for her, harder than ever. Then, she finally got to my face.
I pointed, silently, to the bed in the corner.
“Hands and knees,” I said.
She didn’t hesitate, assuming the position on the mattress. I knelt behind her and let my fingers run along the smooth expanses of her skin, now displayed to me for the first time. I could have had her naked a long time ago, almost the moment she walked into this room. I was certain of that. But I liked it better this way. Having started with her kneeling in her skirt and barely-unbuttoned blouse, I appreciated this view so much more.
Her cunt lips were pink and swollen, aching for my touch. I leaned down and blew a puff of air on the over-sensitized flesh, and she let out a throaty groan that went straight to my cock.
“Can you come from this?” I asked her, my voice quiet, but commanding. There was a moment of confusion as she hesitated.
“This?” she echoed.
“Penetration,” I said, just letting the tip of my erection bounce against her entrance. She shivered, the incongruously scientific term just making it seem that much filthier.
“No,” she said. Then, correcting herself quickly: “No, sir.”
“Good,” I said. “You’re not to come again.”
She cleared her throat. “Until...?”
My hand was resting on one perfect cheek of her ass. I squeezed, tightly, until she let out a quiet whimper. “Are you questioning me?”