“Let’s practice it. When you watched me at the club, how does it connect to what you want here? Go to that space in your head, think it through, then answer me.”
Closing her eyes, she remembered the last book she’d been reading in her easy chair. It was a book she’d read as a child. She’d found it when she was helping set up a thrift store for the women’s shelter. A story about a horse . . . Blaze. That was it. When she was a child, she’d read it on a rainy afternoon, falling asleep curled in her father’s recliner. Her mother’s hand, stroking her hair, had woken her for dinner. A different kind of stroking from Dale’s, but with that same protective, reassuring element.
“When I was watching you,” she said slowly, “I had a feeling, a need. I don’t know, I’ve never been on that end of things, you understand? I just felt a desire for what you were doing to Willow, how you made her step out of her head. You were whipping her, and you drove everything out.”
“Do you think you want that level of pain?”
“I don’t know. I just knew what you were doing felt like what I wanted, but I can’t explain how.” She stopped, feeling foolish. “I’m so used to being decisive, Dale. I think the reason I’m trying to keep you at arm’s length, make this a more businesslike arrangement, is the fear that if you become too personal to me . . .”
“I’ll become one of the expectations. Something you have to be a certain way around. I’ll want more from you and you’ll have to take on another role. Good girl. Really good girl. See, it’s there, just waiting under all the storm clouds.”
She felt absurdly pleased by the praise. She couldn’t have this conversation with someone who’d known her as a Domme. But he had no history with her, no perspective from which to judge her. No expectations. So she kept talking. “Anyone else would assume I’m still a Domme, that it’s a temporary switch, a change of pace. It’s not unheard of.”
“But that’s not how you see it, do you?”
She shook her head. But as ill fitting as the Domme coat was, she’d made it fit. Taking on a role had a certainty to it, a safety. With the duality that seemed to be attending every step of this, she was torn between the security it provided and wanting to shed it forever.
He touched her chin, bringing her eyes up to him. “All right. I have a couple boundaries of my own, different from these.” He glanced toward her list, then shifted his attention back to her face. “First, within the boundaries I set, you have the freedom to be whatever you need to be. You’re not going to be ashamed of anything you say and feel around me. I’m in control, so you don’t have to be. All right?”
She nodded. He tugged her hair lightly. “I expect a yes or no to a question.”
“Yes.”
His gaze intensified. “I do want something from you, Athena. And what I want will likely expand and grow. But I have only one expectation. For you to be exactly who you are. If who you are, who you become, doesn’t have a need for me in your life, then you tell me and our arrangement ends. For my part of things, I’m here because you fascinate me, I like you and I’m attracted to you. The thing you can expect from me, at all times, is honesty.”
He wanted things from her. For a single, insane moment, it made her want to give him everything.
“When in session, you address me as sir or Master,” he added. “Those are your two choices.”
She pressed her lips together under his touch. “What if I want to call you that outside of session?”
“Let’s start with in session,” he said. “Remember what I said about a sub getting overwhelmed by her feelings at first? Containing them to a certain extent helps settle you down, helps you decide if you really want to expand the D/s behavior beyond play and into lifestyle. That balance between fantasy and reality.”
He tapped her cheek, drawing her attention to the color flooding there. “You’re already breaking my first rule, Athena. Nothing you say to me should cause you embarrassment. I’m in control, you’re not. It’s clear you’re going to need some discipline to recognize that.”
When she’d snapped at him and he’d cut his eyes at her, he’d given her every reason to believe there’d be consequences for bad behavior. It had thrilled as much as terrified her.
“I’m not used to that.”
“What? Giving up control?”
“No,” she said. “Having someone to whom I can give it.” Had she ever? When do you relinquish control, Athena? Perhaps the better question was, was she capable of relinquishing control?
She kept her eyes down, unable to meet his gaze after such a personal admission. His fingers grazed her hair.
“All right, then.” He stood up. “You read three pages you weren’t supposed to read and went two minutes over the limit I set for you to masturbate to climax. Did you climax?”
She nodded.
“You’re just adding to the punishment, Athena.”
Her spine snapped up straight. “Yes sir.”
“The climax makes the infraction more severe. While I was reading, you also spoke when I told you to be quiet. You could have told me about your disobedience when I gave you permission to speak. Then there’s breaking my first boundary rule and the rule about addressing me. So, eight for the individual infractions, and four for the climax.”
Had she really been that bad? Summed up like that, it made it seem so. She was never bad. He put his hand under her elbow, brought her to her feet. With a perfunctory motion, he pulled the robe all the way off her body and tossed it on the stool, leaving her completely naked. Just like that, all her physical imperfections exposed. She was in good shape, but there was a difference between showing that off in the right kind of clothes and having nothing to sculpt or mold things into more appealing lines.
Shouldering his bag, he took her elbow again. “Come with me.”
He was all business now, which actually helped her self-consciousness. He remembered the layout of her home, moving with purpose down the wide hallway to the indoor rec room, where there was an array of comfortable furniture, a large flatscreen, music system and pool table. Roy had often played pool while he listened to the news and grumbled about how many idiots there were in the world.
Dropping his bag on the floor, Dale took her to the padded footrest in front of a large cushioned chair. “Put your stomach on the footrest, breasts just over the end, palms flat on the floor. Your knees aren’t going to reach the floor on the back end, so rest your thighs against the cushion and press your toes into the floor. Are you familiar with yoga?”
“Yes sir.”
“Like a down dog, only your stomach will be on the cushion, so your knees will be bent.”
It was still a precarious position, vulnerable, made more so when his tone sharpened. “Legs spread. Anytime I punish you, unless I say otherwise, you spread your legs. Shoulder width. I’ll tell you if I want them wider.”
Now that she was facing the reality, emotions were starting to roil in her stomach. “Dale . . .”
“Shh.” He helped steady her stance, then stroked a hand over her hair. “Have you ever been disciplined, Athena? Punished for being bad?”
“No.” Her voice was nearly a whisper, entirely unlike herself.
He let his knuckles glide down her back. “Then you’re giving me a gift. Sweet as a virgin offering up her innocence. All this gorgeous, baby-soft skin. Count it off for me, and breathe.”
She put her palms onto the Berber carpet, her toes digging into it on the other side of the footrest. In this position, her ass was lifted and, with her legs spread, she was as exposed to him as she could be. No clothes, no robe, nothing. He ran a hand down her back again. Cool air followed his touch on her buttocks, the flesh between her legs.
“Slick and swollen. This excites you, Athena. Your pretty cunt looks ready for whatever your Master wants.”
She’d seen this done, but having it done to
her was very different. Her breath started to rasp in her throat when, in her peripheral vision, she saw him put his hand to his belt, unbuckle it and slide it free. He doubled it over. “Count them,” he reminded her.
The first strike was a lick of fire across her hindquarters. The last time she’d had her backside blistered, she’d been a child. Since being well behaved was the result of such prudently administered corporal punishment, it had rarely been required. The burn made her jump, her nerves scream in shock. Her brain demanded that she move away, turn, stop him. Instead, she dug her fingers into the carpet. “One.”
Then came the next, and the next. The pain intensified. When she began to squirm on strike five, he put his hand on her back, pressing her to the cushion, showing how easily he could hold her down. She was panting, tears swimming in her eyes. “It hurts . . . hurts.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it does. It’s making your ass a beautiful shade of red. Keep counting. Six to go. Was that extra two minutes worth it? The climax?”
Oh God, no. It had been a tiny, pitiful thing next to this. To deliver the last strokes, he banded an arm around her waist to keep her backside in the air and her body in place. She was struggling involuntarily now, but his powerful grip held her fast.
“Nine.” God . . . “Ten!”
The tears had spilled forth, and she was hooked to the carpet like a cat with claws. When the last blow landed, it had all become one fiery burn across her buttocks. He kept that strong arm around her as she sniffled. He steadied her, a warning that he was about to let go and he expected her to hold the position he’d mandated. When he released her, he moved behind her. Putting his hands on her buttocks, he settled his thumbs in the crease between labia and the pocket of her thigh. With no preamble, he dropped to a knee behind her and closed his mouth over her sex.
Her pussy was juicy as a peach slice, and when his tongue thrust inside of her, she came apart. He gripped her hips, holding her in place even though she was wheelbarrowing on the other side of the footrest, bleating and screaming as his relentless sucking and flicking of her clit catapulted her to a hard, fast climax. One far more intense than her infraction and far more desirable, because it was him making it happen.
She scrabbled for purchase on the carpet. He kept suckling her past the aftershocks, when she was jerking from the sensitivity, but he didn’t stop until he was good and ready, even when she was making pleading noises in her throat. It wasn’t until she quieted, accepting the crazy mix of discomfort and pleasure as part of her punishment, that he stopped.
He eased her down so she was draped limply on the footrest. The unease and emotional turmoil she’d felt since he’d arrived had mostly vanished. Was it possible her agitated state had been as much about violent arousal as uncertain feelings? His punishment and the cleverness of his mouth seemed to have cut her concern about the latter tenfold.
He drew her to an upright position on her knees, brought her to her feet. She was unsteady, but it didn’t matter. Shouldering the bag he’d brought from the kitchen, he scooped her up in his arms. “That takes care of your punishment. Now let’s get to your session.”
SIX
What? He was going to kill her, and she’d let him. Out of pure gratitude, she wouldn’t leave a single clue to betray him to the authorities. She really should have reminded Lynn where she kept the original copy of her will. Thank goodness she hadn’t adopted that dog she’d seen at the local ASPCA. The terrier mix had been a mop of hair, with soft brown eyes that promised she’d be the perfect companion, a warm body sharing the bed. Athena had instead found her a wonderful home with a family. Since she was going to expire from the things Dale was doing to her tonight, she was glad she hadn’t put that poor dog through the stress of such a temporary home.
Temporary. She’d assumed this arrangement with Dale was a temporary matter, something he kept gently—and sometimes not so gently—reminding her couldn’t be defined. She couldn’t help it, though. From bittersweet experience, she knew all things had a beginning and end, and when those experiences were wonderful, one always wished for a wider span between the two points. There was no way to brace for the loss, but it was human nature to try anyway.
Dale’s skills, however, could draw the excruciating and the pleasurable out on the same rubber band, so the mind was torn between please stop and never stop. She was caught between in a way that ensured she’d never use her safe word, no matter how strenuously she was stretched between the two points.
He carried her through the house to her reading nook. He’d turned at the appropriate points so her head or feet were protected as they moved through doorways. Now he reached under her and turned the latch of the sunporch, stepping right out into the gardens with her unclothed. There were no neighbors within viewing distance of course. It was just . . . she’d never been naked outside.
He didn’t let her down until they reached The Choice. “Turn and face the griffin. Reach above you, see if you can grab the crest of his wings.”
To do that, she had to lean full against the creature, put her forehead against its throat. Even then, she had to strain for the crest, going onto her toes. Dale came and pressed against her back to adjust her grip lower, on the slope of the wing edges. Now she was flat on her feet, but she was still stretched out. She wanted him to keep the heated strength of his body against her like that, but of course he stepped back.
“You’re going to be here awhile. I don’t want to put too much stress on your ankles or shoulders.”
Dale gripped her hair then, using that hold to lift her upper body away from the griffin and reach around her, put his fingers on the metal. When she glanced down, she saw he was testing those metal feathers, verifying they were smooth and not sharp. His questing hand was close enough that his wrist and the heel of his hand brushed her nipple, the curve of her breast. While the contact might be incidental, that, combined with the knee-weakening clasp on her hair, sent a frisson of arousal through a body that should still be depleted by her last climax. Maybe the newness of the situation, the excitement of it, was refueling her faster. Or Dale alone had that effect on her, him exercising his Mastery over her.
He returned her to a full lean against the griffin, readjusting her hands on the wings once more so her arms were stretched as far as they could go without taking her off her heels. The griffin’s chest rounded out her back, and the ridges of the feathers were a cool friction against tender skin.
Leaving her in that position, he went to his bag, unzipping it. Since he was in her field of vision, she saw him withdraw a coil of rope. Unwrapping the end from the figure eight coil, he shook it out in a deft move. Then he returned to her side and began tying her to the statue.
He moved with harrowing efficiency, binding her wrists with a knot that didn’t slip, winding the rope around the griffin and her, eventually cinching her firmly to the mythical beast in a series of cross ties and knots he lined up on either side of her spine.
It took a while and, as he did it, her body reacted as if he was stimulating her in a much more intimate way. The restraint was turning her on, every incremental restriction making her breath shorter, her heart pound, her flesh heat. She wanted him to keep tying her endlessly, more tightly. The more immobile and helpless he rendered her, the more aroused she became. Oh God. No wonder Roy had loved it when she tied him up. It held a euphoria all its own.
Dale left her backside free of encumbrance, but pulled the ropes through her legs, positioning a rough, titillating knot right against her clit before he split the rope around her labia, putting further pressure there. It increased when he began wrapping her thighs. Whatever he did pulled her legs open another inch or two, which made her grip on the wings more of a stretch, providing a feeling of suspension, even though she stayed on the ground. He brought her ankles up close to the statue, gripping her ass in one hand to guide her into a more severe C-curve over the griffin’s chest.
; He knew his rope suspension techniques well, because the way he’d tied her, her shoulders weren’t bearing her weight. The rope harness over her back, hips and thighs had formed a cradle, as if she was a baby bird in a closefitting sling against the griffin’s puffed chest, her knees pressed against its lower abdomen. If he cut her loose right now, she’d fall, because she was no longer in a sturdy right angle with the ground. The sense of once again being simultaneously off balance and at his mercy was overwhelming.
He hadn’t spoken throughout, and neither had she. She’d never felt such a complete lack of need to speak. The way his hands moved over her body held all her attention. As well as his even breath, the way he stopped at different times to study her face, gauge her reaction. When he tested tightness, the angle of the ropes, the stress on her joints, the functional task felt remarkably erotic. Arousal trickled down her thigh, and it wasn’t from her last climax.
He put away the excess line. When he returned to her, he cupped her bottom once more, making her moan as he squeezed her hard enough the belt marks throbbed, then he stroked them.
“I like knowing your ass will be tender tomorrow because of this. You’ll have a lot of muscles hurting you haven’t used this way before. I’ll enjoy thinking about that, too. I’m going to leave you instructions to deal with it. A hot bath tonight, a couple aspirin. You’ll rub a liniment I give you into your arms and hips. Do you have someone who can help you do that?”
She shook her head. “I can manage.”
“I’ll come by in the morning and do it.”
“You . . . could stay.”
Her earlier impulsive state had obviously been exacerbated by the climax, her aroused state. She’d babble anything right now, but the idea of him in a bed with her was irresistible. But not her bed. Not yet.
“Not yet.” He echoed her thought, which gave her a pang of uncertainty and disappointment both, but her body’s intense reaction to her bondage didn’t let it gain much traction. He gripped her hair anew, tilting her head back so she was gazing up into his unsmiling face, those piercing eyes. “Too soon. I’m not him, Athena.”
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