by Mia Gabriel
When we’d been at Wrenton, we’d experimented with having me tied to the posts of he bed. I’d been completely helpless, restrained and unable to move, and completely at his mercy, too. I’d found it unbelievably exciting, and Savage had made sure that the pleasure was worth my initial uneasiness.
But being bound to the oak posts of a bed was very different from being trussed up and suspended in the air. There’d been no chance of falling from the bed. The thought of being buckled to the swing and hanging there in the air was … unsettling, in every sense.
“Is the swing to be part of my training, Master?” I asked, even though it was already clear that it was.
“Oh, yes,” he said evenly. “What better way could there be to prove that you trust me?”
I looked at the swing again and swallowed hard. He was right. Words and protestations could go just so far. This would be a much more tangible way to prove how much I trusted him.
“You say the swing is new, Master?” I asked, stalling.
He nodded. “Yesterday. I’ve seen such swings before in my travels, of course—they’re quite the rage in the more exclusive brothels in Paris—but I’ve never felt the desire to have one in my house until now. Yet in this room, with these mirrors to reflect your beauty and your passion, it shall be perfect. You see how you’ve inspired me, Eve.”
I nodded. I’d regretted not being the first woman in his life. At least here I would be.
“We will experiment together, Master?” I asked, wishing I could keep the tentative quaver from my voice.
“We will, Eve, if you agree,” he said, watching me closely.
Anxiously I smoothed my hair back behind my ears and glanced at the swing again, trying to see it as an experiment to be shared with him, not a hazard.
“Is it my decision to make, Master?”
His smile faded, his gaze intense on me. “It’s your decision, yes,” he said. “Whether to obey me, or not. To trust me, or not. They’re your decisions to make entirely.”
I nodded. This was my decision.
And I’d already made it.
I nodded again and turned resolutely towards the swing. “How do I begin, Master?”
“I’ll help you,” he said, his smile warm with what I realized was relief. That made me smile, too. Had he really thought I’d refuse him? Hadn’t he learned by now that I couldn’t refuse him anything?
With both hands on my waist he lifted me so I was balanced on the leather seat and held tightly to the nearest cords. I wasn’t so much sitting as perched with my feet dangling, like a trapeze artist at the circus. Most of my bottom hung over the back edge of the narrow seat, with the leather pressing against my quim. I shifted a fraction, startled by how good the pressure felt there, and unconsciously my lips parted with surprise and pleasure.
“You like the swing, don’t you?” he asked, noticing. “I suspected you would.”
He raised one of my feet, kissed the inside of my ankle, and carefully fed it through the nearest large loop until the loop hooked beneath my knee, and then repeated with my other leg. The loops not only raised my legs but also forced them to spread apart. With my knees raised I was also tipped farther back against the seat strap, and now my quim was blatantly open and exposed to him and my endless reflection. I thought I’d lost all modesty with him, but there was something about seeing my glistening, open quim in all the mirrors that made me suddenly shy again. I tried to close my legs, but the straps kept them firmly apart.
“Goodness,” I murmured faintly with a small, nervous laugh. “I hadn’t expected the effect to be like … like this.”
“We’ve only begun, Eve,” he said darkly. “Give me your hand.”
I didn’t give him my hand so much as he took it, unlocking my fingers from the cord and drawing them forward and up until he could secure my wrist with the leather straps, buckling it into place. He did it to my other hand, too, with startling efficiency. Finally he produced a belt that he fastened around my waist and threaded through two smaller loops on the cords. I might have inspired him, but from how tidily he’d handled the loops, straps, and buckles he’d clearly been thinking and planning for this moment for a long time.
He checked the last buckle again and stepped back to survey his handiwork. I was now secured in every way, effectively bound and trapped like a madwoman. Beyond an inconsequential wriggle, I couldn’t move on my own, nor could I escape if I’d wanted to. I stared at my repeated reflection, swaying gently but helplessly. There was no question of toppling from the swing, as I’d first feared, but now I felt impossibly vulnerable and curiously close to tears.
“There,” Savage said, his voice showing not only his satisfaction but his arousal as well. “What do you make of your swing now, Eve?”
“I think I look like a trussed hen,” I said, my voice breaking. He was standing behind me, and though I could speak to his reflection, I tried to twist my head far enough around to speak to him directly. “That is, a trussed hen, Master.”
“Oh, Eve.” He came around and crouched before me so that our eyes were level. He smoothed my hair back from my face, and when he saw that a single tear had escaped from the corner of my eye he drew out his monogrammed handkerchief and carefully blotted the tear away. “Is the position painful to you? Are the straps too tight?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“Then what has upset you, my own sweet Eve?” he asked. “Have you changed your mind? Do you no longer trust me as you promised you did?”
“I trust you, Master,” I whispered forlornly. “I’m sorry I’ve cried. I will be brave.”
“That’s not the point,” he said with rare tenderness. “I don’t want you to be brave. I want you to be ready to explore new pleasures, new experiences, with me. I want this to be something we try together. Uncertainty is natural. Fear is not, and I never want you to be afraid with me.”
“I … I’m not,” I said haltingly. I longed to touch him, too, to put my arms around his waist and press my body so close to his that he’d understand, really understand, how much he’d come to mean to me. “You always make me feel safe, Savage. It’s just that … that this is so … so unusual that I do not know what to expect.”
“Unusual,” he repeated. “That’s often the way it is with me, isn’t it?”
He smiled crookedly, so endearing that I might have let another tear—this time from emotion, not anxiety—slither down my cheek.
“Do you recall the first time I told you to take off your Innocent’s costume and stand naked before me?” he asked. “As I remember, you found that unusual as well.”
I nodded, sniffing. “The first time you licked my quim and my pearl and made me come that way, I thought it was very unusual. I couldn’t understand why any man would wish to do that.”
“And look how far you’ve progressed,” he said, faintly teasing. “You’re sucking my cock in the back of a carriage. Whatever would Mrs. Astor say?”
I smiled, not at Mrs. Astor but at the other memories he was conjuring. He was right: I’d thought everything he’d suggested was strange the first time, until I’d learned how arousing and pleasurable it could be. Different positions, in a full tub, in a motorcar, with toys made for pleasure—it had all seemed strange at first, and now I wanted it all. I’d never even had an orgasm before Savage, and I would have called that “unusual,” too, if someone had tried to describe it to me before.
“It’s part of the Game, isn’t it?” I asked softly. “Everything you’ve … we’ve done has been part of the Game.”
“It is,” he said, turning serious again. “And I want to share it all with you.”
“You’re the only one I’d ever play the Game with, Master,” I blurted out. “I never would with any other man.”
I feared I’d said too much, but he nodded, accepting.
“You’re a special Innocent, Eve,” he said. “There’s no other who can compare with you.”
He held my face steady in his h
ands to keep me from swinging away from him and kissed me, a long, seductive kiss that made my breasts tighten with wanting and my quim grow heavy. Without thinking I strained against the straps to reach for him, and to my surprise the effort seemed to make the passion within me twist and flare.
He sensed it as well, cupping one of my breasts in his palm and tugging lightly on the nipple until it grew hard and taut.
I moaned against his lips, and he pulled back a fraction, keeping our faces close and our foreheads nearly touching.
“Do you remember how I punished you the other evening, Eve?” he said, his voice rough. “How I spanked you the way you deserved, until your bottom was hot and bloomed like a rose for me?”
“And then when my punishment was done, Master, you fucked me,” I whispered breathlessly, “and it was better than it had ever been.”
I looked down, not from modesty but to see if this conversation was having the same effect on him that it was on me. It was: the front of his black trousers bulged outward with the force of his erection behind the black fabric.
“You must learn to obey, Eve, and to trust me,” he said. “Are you ready now for that lesson?”
“Yes, Master,” I breathed. “I believe I am.”
“I’ll judge that,” he said. He licked his fingers to slick them with saliva and ran them across my wide-open quim. His touch was light, teasing, running his finger between my already-wet nether lips but not across my pearl. I gasped and tried to arch forward to reach his fingers.
But instead of coming closer, the slight motion of my body was enough to send the swing swaying back and forth, and away from his hand, and I groaned with frustration.
“That is hardly how a repentant Innocent would behave, Eve,” he chided. “You must be grateful and obedient, not demanding.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, flustered and aroused from his passing caress combined with the swing’s sway. I’d already realized that struggling against the restraints wasn’t wise. Struggling tightened my muscles and only served to increase the tension building within me with no hope of release, and yet it was nearly impossible to keep still in this position. “I will try to be better, Master.”
“Promises mean nothing, Eve,” he said. “It’s your actions that will convince me of your desire to change.”
He was hardly unmoved himself. I could see the quickening rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his face, and the tiny beads of sweat that were gathering on his temples.
That and the pressure he must surely be feeling with his cock in the tightly confining trousers.
“Yes, Master,” I said, struggling to keep my bound limbs from moving. “I will show you my intentions, Master.”
“I trust you will,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “But I don’t wish for you to suffer. This should help.”
He held up a short, thick dildo for me to see. The dildo was elegantly carved from ivory and complete in every detail, and though it was not so large as his own cock, I’d no doubt that it would stretch and fill my passage. The sight of it alone was enough to make my quim ache.
“I suspect you’re already wet enough to take this,” he said, holding the dildo to my lips, “but a quick polishing with your tongue wouldn’t hurt.”
He pressed the ivory shaft into my mouth, and as soon as I’d licked it as he’d instructed he withdrew it, dripping, from my mouth. He turned the swing so I was directly facing the nearest mirrored wall, steadying it for me to see my reflection
I was shocked by the change in my appearance: my eyes heavy with desire, my nipples red and pointed, my thighs white and pale in provocative contrast to the black leather loops that held them apart. In the center the darkened lips of my quim were swollen, with my pearl gleaming like a wanton jewel. Everything glistened with my juices, also soaking the short, curling hairs around it.
I’d never seen myself look so unabashedly lewd, so aroused. Perhaps neither had Savage.
“See how beautiful you are, Eve,” he growled. “See how ripe and hot you are. By the time I finally take you, you’ll be on fire for me.”
As I stared he reached around my thigh and thrust the dildo into my quim, relentlessly twisting it to make the invasion more delicious. I cried out, not from pain but delight, as the ivory opened my swollen passage, and he pushed relentlessly until the dildo was buried to the hilt within me, with only its ivory bollocks dangling before me. Their weight served a purpose and held the blunt tip of the dildo pressed tightly against the most sensitive place in the front of my passage.
“Yes, Master,” I gasped. “I … I will be ready to take you.”
“You will,” he repeated forcefully, his eyes dark with undisguised lust. “But first you must be punished.”
Deftly he spun the swing around, and before I realized what he was doing he’d tipped me forward. My legs slipped higher into the larger loops to fit around my upper thighs, and the belt around my waist supported me instead, with my arms forced out before me. It was as if I were kneeling on all fours, except that I was suspended in the air. My breasts hung down and my bottom and quim were raised up. Even the slightest movement of the swing sent tremors from the dildo buried within me, making me perilously close to spending as I hung there.
“Perfect,” muttered Savage. “You are perfect, Eve.”
I lifted my head to see him standing behind me, his dark hair falling over his forehead. The small room hadn’t seemed warm when we’d entered, but now it seemed as close and sultry as a summer afternoon. Savage had stripped off his shirt, and reflected in the mirrors were his broad shoulders and ridged abdomen, sleeked with a fine sheen of sweat. He turned and smiled wickedly at me.
And then I saw the flat wooden paddle in his hand.
11.
“What is that, Master?” I gasped anxiously, craning my neck to see better.
“It will do a better job than my hand alone,” Savage said, turning the paddle in his hand as if admiring it. It was simply made from a single flat piece of dark wood, with the far end a wide, curved oval that would certainly cover more than even his hand alone ever could. “Mahogany. I promise you it’s very smooth and well finished. I wouldn’t want any splinters to mar that delectable bottom of yours.”
“But … but that will hurt,” I protested, panicking. “You said I should trust you!”
“You must trust me not to make it hurt more than you can bear,” he said easily. “It’s supposed to be a punishment, Eve.”
“But if—”
“Shhh,” he said, placing a single finger across my lips to silence me. “I said to trust me. I should think a half-dozen strokes will be sufficient to warm you. You are new to the paddle, and besides, your sin was not so grievous as to merit more.”
In the mirror I saw how vulnerable I must be in this new position in the swing and how tempting a target. My hips and bottom were raised to the perfect height for his arm to wield the paddle. I watched him take a few preparatory swings, coming close but stopping, and tensed in anticipation.
He placed his palm on the base of my spine to steady me. I was trembling, making the swing shake with me.
He raised his arm and swung.
I yelped as the paddle struck my bottom, and I swung forward from the impact towards my wide-eyed face in the mirror before me. It didn’t hurt so much as sting, much as his open palm had done to me the other night. But this time I felt it in my sex as well, as in response my inner muscles tightened around the dildo buried within me.
“That’s one,” he said unnecessarily, as if I’d somehow missed it. He grabbed the swing’s cords to stop me from moving. “Now two.”
The second time, I didn’t cry out so much as gasp as the paddle smacked loudly against my skin. Afterward he pressed the paddle to the place he’d just struck, making small, soothing circles over my flesh with the polished wood. It was the same thing he’d done with his hand the other night, but the effect with the wood—harder, smoother, more rigid—was somehow more exciting.
“Three,” he announced gruffly. “Jesus, your ass is so beautiful like this.”
I couldn’t tell if he’d struck me harder or if my flesh was simply responding to the paddle’s effect. I know my quim was. With each blow I’d automatically clenched more tightly around the dildo, and the ripples of pleasure were making me feverish.
“Four,” he said. Again, he stopped the swing’s motion to smooth the paddle over my bottom. But when he’d done that this time he brought the paddle forward, rubbing it lightly over the globes of my breasts to tease my nipples. Already stiff and aching, they tightened further as he rubbed the paddle across them. I could not believe how good it felt. Liquid heat rushed through my belly, and I wasn’t able to keep back a moan.
“You like that,” he said. His voice was harsh, working for self-control. “Tell me you do, Eve.”
“I do, Master,” I said, my own voice unsteady. “I like that.”
“What do you like?” he demanded. “Tell me.”
I closed my eyes to gather myself. “I like how you’re rubbing the paddle across my nipples to make them hard, Master.”
“Very good.” He leaned over me to sweep aside the now-damp length of my hair from the back of my neck and pressed his lips to my nape, not so much a kiss as a mark of approval.
Then he took the rounded edge of the paddle and lightly ran it between my shoulder blades, down my spine, and finally through the cleft of my bottom. Instinctively I tightened my muscles to close my legs, but with my thighs forced so far apart by the swing there was no hiding or escape.
He trailed the paddle’s edge lower between my widespread legs, over my bottom hole. I moaned, and shuddered as he ran the paddle’s edge across the end of the dildo, pushing it more deeply into my passage.
“Tell me that you like that, too, Eve,” he ordered.
“Oh, Master,” I gasped. “I … I cannot think!”
Because of the mirror I could see how he was staring, transfixed, at my bottom and my quim and how he was teasing me with the paddle. His face was fixed, every muscle tensed with barely controlled lust, and his chest and shoulders were sheened with sweat as if he’d run a mile.