“You know, I think that’s the real meaning of life. Love, connection, family. All this. You all… You don’t know how lucky you are. Or perhaps you do.”
Kat almost applauded. What a slam dunk. Her mother would be pure putty in his hands now. Elena looked around at her family too, the beaming matriarch. “I share your idea, Dr. Ryan. I like this idea of family.”
“Please, call me Ryan,” he said, reaching for Kat beside him. He put his arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her forehead. Kat looked past him to see her father’s eyes shining, a tremulous smile on his face.
* * * * *
“That was really wrong of you,” she told him on the way to his house after dinner.
“What was really wrong?”
“Leading them on like that. Feeding them those bullshit lines about kids and family. I can’t believe my mother at least, couldn’t see through you.”
He glanced over at her, then back at the road. “It’s not bullshit. I didn’t tell one lie to your mother or father. I told you, Kat. I never lie.”
“Well,” she said, feeling sulky at the reprimand in his tone. “You were trying to manipulate them. You manipulate people. I’ve seen you do it. You manipulate me.” He made a soft sound, a cross between a laugh and a sigh. “Do you deny it?”
“I manipulate you every chance I get, doll.”
“Ugh. Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because I want to. Get used to it, doll. And you’re no stranger to manipulation, if you’re going to be pointing fingers.”
She fell silent, watching the tree-lined sidewalks out the window, the tiny Cambridge house gardens. Little disciplined managed plots of color maintained in a crowded Boston suburb. She thought she would be disciplined and maintained that way by Ryan. He would try to make her thrive where she didn’t naturally belong. And her mother and father were one hundred percent behind him—as Ryan had forecast, Elena practically packed her bags and carried them out to Ryan’s car. She felt anxious, scared. Excited. Ryan looked over at her and stroked her thigh softly for just a moment.
“You’re going to spend tonight without any clothes. When we get home, they come off and you stay naked until tomorrow morning when you go to work. Understood?”
“Um…”
“Yes Sir.”
“Yes Sir. But um…may I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Is that every night? Or just tonight?”
“It’s whenever I say so.”
Kat looked down in her lap, at her hands clasped there. “Oh. What if I get cold?”
“You won’t get cold.”
The way he said it left no mystery behind the meaning. When they got to his house, he took her inside and had her strip in the foyer. He took her clothes down the hall, into the room that was “hers”. He returned and approached her in silence with that intent look that always rattled her a little, made her want to hide herself. He put his hands on her, pressing on the small of her back so she had to stand up straighter. He pushed back her shoulders so her breasts were thrust forward.
“Don’t slouch. Stand up straight and present yourself to me.”
“For…for what?”
“For my pleasure.” His curt words made some wild drumbeat commence between her legs. Her stomach flipped over and fluttered, although she tried to remain outwardly cool. Inside she was anything but. Her pussy was already growing wet and ready for him. He pulled at her arms. “Let them fall naturally at your side. Stand straight and open to me.” Breathe in, breathe out. He put his thumb under her chin, tipped her head up and straight. He looked into her eyes with that dark gaze that burned and searched her expression. She stared back, knowing it was expected. What did he see? Why did she imagine he saw more than she even knew of herself? He put his hands on her neck and rested them there, not moving her or controlling her. She straightened unconsciously, then licked her lips.
“Are you going to put a collar on me?” she asked, trying to sound flippant.
“Not yet.” His voice didn’t sound flippant at all. “Someday. When I think you’re up for it.” He chucked her under the chin. “Baby steps. Now…” He stepped back and scrutinized her, tipped her shoulders back just one more iota. The positioning felt unnatural but he seemed to want that. “I’m going to bring your things in and put them in your room. You’re going to stand there and you’re not going to move. Not one inch. When I’m done bringing your things in, I’m going to take you in the bedroom and hurt you. Then I’m going to fuck you and put you to bed for the night. Any questions?”
She had trouble finding her voice. “No,” she finally managed. He gave her a dire look. “No Sir,” she corrected quickly.
With one last sweeping inspection of her body, he turned and went out the door. Kat found herself alone with her thoughts, standing naked and still at the behest of her Master. She was acutely aware of the heaviness of her breasts, the rise and fall of her chest, the vulnerability of her bared ass cheeks as the cool air blew across them. The mounting heat at the apex of her thighs.
He made several trips, pausing each time to inspect her on entering. Her face burned from the scrutiny. The third time, before he headed back to the car, he took her wrists and pulled her hands up. “Lace your fingers at the back of your neck. Elbows out. Stand up straight.” She swallowed and did as he asked. He wasn’t happy with her efforts. He pushed her elbows back until her breasts were forced even farther forward. Then, silently, he went around behind her and drove his knee between her legs. He began to spread them open, using his leather shoes to push her bare feet a distance apart on the floor.
She was strangled with lust and yet terrified. Cool air rushed up into her exposed center. She was terrified he would touch her and yet terrified he wouldn’t. He didn’t touch her, though, or say another word, just gave her another fathomless stare and turned away to make another trip to the car.
It felt like hours that she stood there, but the clock said ten minutes. He brought the last of her things in and then returned to take her arm, pulling her from her rigid stance. “You can unpack tomorrow.”
He didn’t wait for any answer to that and she didn’t attempt one. In his bedroom he arranged her again. She was already quicker at it. Shoulders back, hips straight, ankles together, arms at her side. He gave a small nod, acknowledging her progress, however minor. When she was positioned to his liking he turned away and undressed, taking his time. He took off his tie, hung it on the tie rack. Undid his belt, hung it on another rack. Folded his pants and shirt and put them in a pile for the dry cleaners. She watched his muscles as he worked, as he leaned and reached and strode to the closet. So much leashed power. It seemed inconceivable that this man spent his days performing neurosurgery, dealing in fine increments too small to be detected by the human eye. So much steadiness, so much finesse must have been required, and yet there was a wildness in him she could barely comprehend.
When he was fully undressed, he crossed in front of her to his bureau and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was filled with neatly coiled and tied-off bunches of rope of several thicknesses and colors. She watched as he sorted through them thoughtfully.
“Are you planning to hang me?”
He turned. “That would kind of defeat the purpose.” He looked back in the drawer, drew out some rope, twisted it between his fingers as if testing the weight and softness. He stood and came to her, unraveling the bundle. “Kat, have you ever heard of shibari?”
“Is that some kind of power drink?” He took one nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching a sharp warning. “Uh…um…some kinky rope thing?” she guessed again.
“Shibari is another word for Japanese rope bondage. And it’s not just kinky stuff. It’s an art form.” He gestured back toward the drawer. “As you may have guessed from my collection, I’m pretty into it.” He lifted the frayed edge of the rope he held, drew it across the tender nipple he’d just pinched. She shivered at the ticklish sensation. “I’m going to t
ie you up, Kat.”
“Um, okay. For how long?”
“For as long as I want.”
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.”
“Hush, you little brat.” He made her kneel, then pressed her forward until her forehead touched the carpet. “Give me your hands.” She reached them back and he took them, cinching them together wrist-to-wrist with the rope. He ran the dangling tails around her waist and crossed them at the front, then pulled them back up again.
As he worked, she rested her cheek on the floor and gazed over at the jumble of paper cranes still scattered on the floor. She thought she should pick them up. At least someone should. All that careful, intricate work. Behind her back, the same fingers that had folded the cranes whispered across her skin, punctuated sometimes by the touch of soft, scratchy rope. He got up at one point and moved back across the room. She heard a drawer opening and closing but she couldn’t turn her head up high enough to see what he returned with. He put whatever it was on the small desk against the wall and knelt down again. She was still, compliant. She was curious about what the hell was going on. She felt the rope almost like a blanket on her back, a crisscrossing pattern. She felt a little tug and then rope being tied around her ankles.
That finished, he stood a couple paces in front of her and said, “Come here.”
She started to move, rousing the usual muscles into action. She thought the rope behind her was loose enough to allow motion, but her legs stopped still. Her torso lurched, arrested. He caught her shoulders before she did a faceplant into the rug. “Jesus,” she snapped. “What the fuck?”
“Try again. Slowly. Come here. Think about how you’ll have to move.”
Kat felt sudden tears burn behind her eyes. She felt humiliated, helpless. “I can’t move at all. You tied me up.”
“I’ve hampered you, but you can still move.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” She hunkered over, resting her head on the floor. She hated the tremor in her voice.
He squatted down in front of her, patted the side of her hair as if she were a child or a pet. She wanted to pull away but she couldn’t. “Don’t be a quitter, Kat. And don’t overreact right now. How are you feeling?”
She pulled at the bonds, at her arms and legs hobbled and no longer under her control. “I feel restricted. Trapped.”
“Good. That’s how I meant you to feel.” He kept petting her, stroking her hair. “You’re trapped but I’ve got you. You’re okay. Do you understand? Now try it again.” He stood in front of her again, a towering pillar to her supplication. “Move. Come here.”
She moved more slowly, more carefully this time. He made an encouraging sound. She discovered that if she inched each knee forward and distributed her weight carefully, she could move forward without falling or tipping on her side. As she moved forward, he moved back. With painstaking progress she inched across his bedroom.
“Good girl,” he said finally. “Stop. Remind me what I said I was going to do to you here in the bedroom.”
“I was kind of hoping you were going to fuck me, but I’m not sure how you’d accomplish that with this—owww!” A slice of liquid fire lanced across her buttocks, and then another. Owww. It took a moment for it to register that he was doing it. There was a disconnect before she understood that he had brought back some implement from those drawers and was using it on her now. It took another moment for her to understand that she also had no power to get away, to evade any further blows. By the third stroke, the throbbing scary pain had her scrambling for an answer, any answer to make it stop. “Oww! Umm…ahh…”
“What did I say? Weren’t you listening?”
God, she needed to listen better. She thought back, thought hard. When I’m done bringing your things in, I’m going to take you in the bedroom and hurt you. “You—you said you were going to hurt me.”
“Very good.”
“Which you’re kind of doing right now—ouch!” She gasped and tensed at the sudden stinging pain, cursing her sassy mouth. She clamped her lips shut, drawing her legs in more tightly.
“Finished?”
“Yes Sir.” She heard him put the implement back down on the desk, a minute sound that still registered in the form of relief. He knelt beside her with something new in his hands, a small chain. “Can I—please—can I just ask a question?” she pleaded.
“Yes.”
“What was that? That you hit me with?”
“A rattan cane. And just so you know, I could have hit you with it a lot harder. That’s not a threat. It’s just the truth.”
She swallowed. Tears threatened again. “Why…why are you doing this?”
He put one hand on her back, brushed across it soothingly. “Because I like to hurt you and make you do things. I really do, Kat. But do you know what?”
He leaned closer. Kat felt the brush of his dark hair against her cheek, the warmth of his forehead on her shoulder. “What?”
“I’ll make it all worth it for you,” he whispered. “I promise. Just bear with me. Okay?”
She shivered a little at the promise contained in his low, gruff voice. His hand slid from her back underneath to her breasts. He squeezed and caressed them, then pinched one of her nipples.
“This is going to hurt too. Brace yourself.”
He reached under her with the chain. Just as it registered—that there were clamps on the chain, that they were going to be used on her nipples—pain blossomed where he touched her. The horrible clamp delivered hot hard pain that flared and settled into a dull ache. She hissed and tried to pull away from him but found herself arrested again by the inflexible web of rope.
“Please! Just give me a minute—”
He ignored her, moving to clamp the other nipple with the same horrible burst of pain. The chain hung down beneath her, cold and smooth against her knees.
“Please,” she said again, but it wasn’t a please begging him to remove them. It was a please of alarm, of confusion at the way she felt. She felt pain and terror and vulnerability and lust like a blanket over her. I’ll make it all worth it for you. He put his hands on her back again, calming her. He ran fingertips down across her hot ass. Please, please, please.
He backed away, went to the desk, sat in the chair there. “Now, Kat, bring me the cranes.”
She turned her head up to him. He was sitting, waiting. “But…how… I can’t.”
He looked at her a moment, then reached beside him to pick up the cane again. Kat’s heart skipped. She lurched forward and picked up a blue one between her teeth, then shuffled forward making small sounds of panic. Her heart flipped over with relief as she heard the cane set down again. He reached for the paper figure and stroked her cheek as he took it. “Good girl. Bring them all.”
It took awhile. She got better, over time, at moving and leaning. A few times she even managed to get two at once between her teeth. A couple times he chided her not to drool on them, an embarrassing reminder of just how turned-on she was. The way he sat and watched while she crawled around to do his bidding had her pussy aching.
She saw mostly cranes and floor, but every so often she raised her head to see his hairy calves, his knees with their sculpted muscle, his cock standing up hard and thick. In time she realized he was stringing each crane she brought on a length of fishing line. A bead at the end prevented them from falling off. She lost count of how many cranes she retrieved, but noticed him tie off one strand and lay it across the desk, beginning another. Her back and thighs began to ache near the end. He made soft sounds of encouragement as her energy started to flag. When she brought him the final crane, he took it and leaned to kiss the top of her head. She arched her neck to look up at him, then huddled on the floor at his feet, overcome.
His eyes, the way he’d looked at her. Pride and approval, affection and hot animal hunger. She laid her cheek against the carpet and wept.
The tears slaughtered him. She destroyed him.
She could have brought a k
nife and asked to kill him in that moment and he would have helped her plunge it into his chest.
He was out of the chair and draped over her back before he knew what he was doing. “Kat,” he sighed against her ear. “Don’t cry. You’re such a good girl.” She sobbed harder, great heaving sobs that pressed her back up against his stomach, the scratchy rope an irritant between them. Release her, idiot. He slid his hands beneath her, braced her, held her tight as he released the clamps. Her breath caught as the blood rushed back into her sensitive nipples. He went to work on the knots next, untying her with an alacrity that bore no resemblance to the slow, deliberate way he’d originally tied her. Her sobs weakened as he worked, diminished to intermittent sniffles. At last the rope loosened and slipped away. As soon as her ankles were free, she moved to get up.
“No.” His voice sounded loud in the silent bedroom. His hands closed on her hips, held her still. “Don’t move yet,” he said more softly. “Give your body time to adjust slowly. And give me time to check you.” She stayed still, shivering, not resisting him. He released her hips and reached for her hands, inspecting her wrists for cuts or chafing. He’d used soft rope but with beginners there was always a risk of damage. He was relieved to see only redness, no abrasions. He placed her hands on either side of her head and then moved down to her ankles. They were unblemished, no abrasions or cuts either. He circled them with thumb and finger, marveling at their shapeliness. Wondrous, compelling femininity.
“Okay,” he said, reaching for her waist again. “Come here. Don’t try to stand up yet.” He pulled her into his lap and tucked her head under his chin. He held her—a huddled bundle—against his chest to warm her and felt the moisture still on her cheeks. “Okay, okay,” he murmured against her hair. She moved one leg, pressed it against his throbbing erection. He was close to bursting for her. The bedside table was right there. He shifted to his knees, sitting back on his ankles. He reached over with one hand and got a condom from the drawer, still cradling her with the other hand. She was floppy, loose in his grasp, still in subspace. He ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and nudged her aside to roll it on. He positioned her slender body on the head of his cock.
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