Replay Set 1: Viking Raid, Triple Play, Honour Bound

by Nia Farrell

  She knew better than to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t believe that he asked her the obvious. “I’ll use ‘kale’ when I need you to go slower, to give my mind or my body time to adjust to whatever’s going on. I’ll use tofu if play needs to stop, if there’s something I can’t handle, either physically or psychologically.” She bit her lower lip, considering. “Does too much of a good thing count?”

  “If it goes beyond what you absolutely cannot bear, then, yes. As Dominant, I’ll be monitoring your condition, listening to your breath, checking your coloration, your pulse, your body’s responses to what I am doing. I am no sadist. I do not take pleasure in causing undue pain. But, when done properly, pain during play sensitizes the skin, increases arousal to the point of euphoria, and releases endorphins that help one achieve subspace, where the mind transcends the body. In that state, you will not respond normally. It becomes my sole responsibility to assess, and reassess, to judge whether to continue play or to stop and begin aftercare.

  “I want you to trust me, to believe that I shall give you what you need. If fear takes hold, or doubts set in, I want you to tell me. Do not wait for permission to speak. Communication is the key to any relationship, even if it is only for an evening of play. But understand, when you use your safe word, play is done. The scene is over. I shall help bring you down, see to your aftercare, but as soon as you are able, I expect you to tell me what happened. If we cannot figure things out, if it goes beyond the physical, then you will see Sir Josef, or we will see Sir Josef. Are we agreed?”

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Damn, he was good. He’d addressed her concerns as if he could read her mind. “Yes. Yes. Agreed.”

  “Good girl,” he rumbled. The baritone vibrato of his voice sent gooseflesh cascading down her body.

  Sir Piers opened a trunk, took out a pair of serious looking scissors, and began pulling out hanks of rope. “Synthetics can be too slippery,” he told her, adding to his pile. “They tend to stretch and are more apt to cause rope burn. Jute is the rope of choice in Japan. It’s lighter than hemp—about half the weight, grips well, and handles beautifully. The three-ply twist leaves behind exquisite marks on the skin that are considered as beautiful as the bondage that created them. Clothing, of course, will lessen the effect on your legs and torso, but your hands and wrists will be exposed. I shall have to pay particular attention to them. Make them pretty, hmm?”

  “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.” She bit her lip, already rethinking her choice to leave her clothes on. If only she’d worn underwear, she’d have shed her pants in a heartbeat, and possibly the top she’d worn. With friends who’d breastfed, she’d become more European in her views about feminine exposure, and Sir Piers was British. Surely he’d visited the beaches in France.

  “The bathroom is there,” he said, pointing at a door on the far side of the room. “You will wish to use it. Take off your shoes and socks. When you come back, I need you to lie on the table, princess. Just like Sleeping Beauty, to be wrapped in vines and then set free.”

  The bathroom was a spa—black marble and glass, complete with a steam shower, a jetted soaker tub, a commode, and a bidet. Elly emerged sans shoes and socks, as instructed, ready for however long their session lasted.

  Sir Piers positioned her on her back, placed a small pillow under her head, and made certain she was comfortable before he began. He fashioned cuffs of rope, making a series of knots that laced her arms from wrist to elbow. He bound her ankles and adorned her feet, using a rope thin enough to weave between her toes. He had her lift her hips and he girdled them with rope, almost as if he were creating a chastity belt.

  True to his word, he didn’t touch her beyond what was necessary for the bondage. It was fascinating to watch him work…until she thought of the videos she’d seen and wished he would dare to do more with her than recreate a children’s fairy tale.

  When he’d trussed her up, Sir Piers took several photos of her with her eyes closed, face up, head left, head right. Producing a length of black lace, he blindfolded her and took more shots. And more shots. When he was satisfied, he left on the blindfold but released her bonds and photographed the marks on her exposed skin.

  “How are you?” he asked. “Any discomfort? Numbness? Tingling?”

  She tingled all right, between her legs. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “May I see?”

  “When we are done.”

  Oh.

  Elly fought the urge to smile. He didn’t need to know how much she wanted to continue.

  “I’d like to do the next set in the swing,” he said, “with you in the “sleeping yogi” pose, ankles behind your head and arms behind your hips. I’ll need you to sustain the pose for at least half an hour. Sixty minutes would be ideal. Can you do it, princess?”

  “When we’re done here.” Elly knew that what she was doing might be considered topping from the bottom, but he’d given her the perfect opening and she’d be a fool to not use it. “In the book, Sleeping Beauty doesn’t awaken until she’s kissed, and I’m still waiting for mine.”

  Blinded by the strip of black lace, she couldn’t see his response, but he cradled her face in his hands. Rubbed a thumb over her lips. She opened her mouth and turned into his touch, taking the tip of his thumb into her mouth to tease it with her tongue. He inhaled sharply and gave her more, letting her have its length and take it like she would a cock.

  “Princess.” There was an odd note in his voice, a tone of warning in a chord of arousal.

  She pulled back her head, sliding her mouth away from his hand. “Sir,” she breathed, her voice throaty with need.

  He did not move, but tension seemed to roll off him in waves. “Dammit.” He growled a second before he kissed her. She supposed you could call it that. It was his face against hers, noses barely touching. The fleetest sharing of breath. A disappointing upward shift. He pressed his lips to her forehead, denying them both the pleasure of anything more.

  He sighed against her hair and stroked her cheek. “What are you doing to me, princess?”

  Hopefully the same thing he was doing to her. Making him feel something for her.

  He took off her blindfold. “I want you. In the swing,” he said, eyes hooded, his voice thick with undercurrents of meaning. Still, it was something, and she clung to the promise of more.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll need to stretch out. Just let me get limber first.”

  He smiled. “Good girl.”

  Elly warmed up her muscles with a series of yoga poses, stretching in ever-increasing increments until she could press her chest to her legs while in a forward bend and could bend the same degrees backwards. Sir Piers watched her, his blue steel gaze never wavering, masculine appreciation shining in the depth of his eyes as she crossed to the swing.

  “I’ve never used one of these,” she said, eager to try it, now that her curiosity and other things had been aroused.

  “I’ll help you get situated,” Sir Piers said, dropping a pile of ropes within reach. His voice was at once confident and arousing, strong yet gentle. “When I lift you up, take hold of the front cables. If need be, use my shoulders to steady yourself.”

  He picked her up like she weighed nothing. Elly squeaked when he planted her bottom squarely in the center of the swing. A quick glance down confirmed that it was set to his height, putting her hips level with his groin.

  He was hard.

  “You see what you do to me, princess,” he murmured, his voice like velvet on her skin. “You see what I would have given you, had you allowed it. Bringing you to orgasm with external stimulation will provide some relief, but you’ll have to earn it. Are you ready?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Words, princess,” he rumbled, cupping her sex through her clothes.

  “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.”

  “And your safe words?” He flexed his fingers and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

  “Kale,” she stammered, seriously distracted. �
�To slow down. Tofu…tofu to stop.”

  “Good girl.”

  Chapter Six

  Sir Piers helped steady the swing while Elly brought her legs up over her head, bending them to get both knees behind her shoulders. Reaching, she took hold of her left foot and brought it behind her head towards her right shoulder. She repeated the move with her right foot, until her ankles were crossed behind her head. Normally, she’d spread them to create a pillow as she lay on the floor. Now she lifted her head and gave him room to perform his magic.

  He chose rope that had been dyed red and quickly went to work, creating an elaborate design that bound her feet together and her body to the swing. He wove some kind of a body harness that banded her breasts, above and below, lifted and separated them in an erotic display. He wanted her hands behind her, and she joined them at her back, underneath the swing, where he used more rope to secure them.

  “How are you, princess?” he asked, even as he was checking her color, her circulation, her comfort level. “Any tingling? Numbness? Discomfort?”

  “I’m good, Sir.”

  Blue light flared in his eyes. “Are you?” he rumbled. “We shall see.”

  The latent promise in his voice paired with the lambent look of bedroom eyes made her wet. Very wet. Her pants felt soaked. As exposed as she was, with her thighs framing her upturned crotch, there was no keeping it secret from him.

  If she could smell her arousal, so could he. He breathed deeply, steadily, while he photographed her from every conceivable angle, constantly assessing between the occasional question he would ask. Setting the camera aside, he checked his handiwork, ducking low to see the color of her fingers behind her back. When he straightened slightly, his face was directly in front of her crotch, and very, very close. All he’d have to do was lean, or pull her to him.

  He inhaled sharply and met her eyes. Locking gazes, he refused to let her look away. “Eyes open,” he ordered when she tried to close them. “There will be no hiding, princess.”

  And no escape, either. She was bound, at his mercy…and yet she knew that one word would end it. She was in control. She was safe.

  He grasped the front cables to steady the swing. Leaning forward, he blew into her cloth-covered crotch, then pressed his mouth against her swollen outer lips and traced them with his tongue.

  “Oh, God.” She couldn’t help it. She moaned, wanting what he’d promised, what they’d agreed to. “Please,” she begged him. “Please!”

  Fingers replaced tongue. He rubbed upward, teasing her clitoris through the knit of her pants, finding new ways to make her body weep with desire. He reached up, pinched and twisted her nipple at the same time he pressed on her clit, creating a connection that sent a jolt of electric current racing between them, making heat coil low in her belly. She ached, empty, acutely aware of her body’s needs. An orgasm would take the edge off, at least.

  She whimpered. He stroked, teasing patterns and rough caresses, the strength of his fingers counterpointed by tender kisses against her belly, her mons, her seam. He nudged his nose between her legs. Working the soaked fabric into her crevice, he separated her labia beneath her pants and managed to find her clitoris. Coaxing it from its hood, he stroked her with his hands, peaking her arousal time and again without letting her climax. Rising, he changed angles, pressing his palm against her clit and pushing his finger in as deeply as the black knit cloth would let him.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged him. “For God’s sake, please! Just…just….”

  He straightened abruptly. “You remember our agreement,” he said, unfastening his pants and taking out his cock, large to match the man, as hard as oak and leaking pre-cum that he spread across his glans with his fingers. Fisting himself, he stepped up to the swing and reached for her. Wrapping his fingers around her waist to hold her in place, he arched his back, pushed against her, and snapped his hips, hard enough that his balls slapped her crack. He rolled his pelvis in an erotic bump and grind, rubbing his shaft against her tenderest flesh.

  External stimulation. Exactly what she’d agreed to but hardly what she’d envisioned. Thank God. This was so much better.

  Elly couldn’t take her eyes off him, even if she’d wanted to, even if he’d allowed it. Piers St. Leger was a magnificent beast, pledged to protect her, dedicating himself to her pleasure. Fully clothed, he was impressive. Exposed as he was…well, measured against him, any other partner she’d had would be found sorely wanting.

  She just wanted to be sore. Wanted the length and girth of that incredible cock inside her. Wanted him to work it in as deep as it would go, as far as she could take it. She wanted to experience the effervescence of little orgasms erupting as he bottomed out inside her. She wanted to feel the burn, the build, the tension breaking as he made her come from penetration alone.

  “Please,” she whispered, watching the incredible focus on his sweat-beaded face as he stimulated her clit. “Please. Oh, please, please, please. God help me, I’m almost there.”

  He caught her nipple between two fingers, pinched and twisted it, far from gentle. He pulled her over the edge, continuing to grind against her while her body spasmed, wringing out a second climax and a third before he stopped, nostrils still flared, his breathing labored, his erection still rampant against the hair-dusted midline of his stomach.

  “But…”

  He managed to tuck himself back inside his pants and closed the zipper. “Tonight was for you, princess. You trusted me to give you what you needed. I’d like to think that I did not disappoint.”

  The Dom in him demanded the truth, and she gave it to him. “Far from it, Sir. That was…amazing.”

  He lifted her chin on his finger. “Blushing? Ah, my dear Eleanor, how you delight me.” He brushed a thumb across her lips, the ones that still burned for his kiss. “I’m going to undo your ropes now. I want you to flex, move, shake, wriggle each part as it’s freed and report its status. We’ll address any problems or issues immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He worked backwards, last to first, undoing the ropes on her hands, her torso, her back, legs and feet. Fingers, hands, wrists—good. Back, a bit stiff, as were her legs.

  Knowing her body as she did, Elly suggested stretching and compensation poses. As soon as the last ropes were freed, she had Sir Piers hold the swing while she straightened her legs and reached above her head to grab her heels, stretching them out in a V before lowering them into a modified goddess pose, bottoms of her feet together with her heels tucked into her groin and knees spread to each side to open up her pelvis. She grasped her toes and made butterfly wings with her bent legs before releasing her feet and sliding them to the floor. She rolled her spine down in a forward bend and wrapped her fingers around her calves to pull her face against her shins. Dropping her palms to the floor, she walked back her feet and went into a cobra pose, neck and back arched to open her chest.

  Sir Piers remained a silent observer, watching her work her muscles. Her neck was still a bit stiff when she came to a stand, but other than that, everything seemed fine.

  “That’s better,” she said. Working the release points for her sternocleidomastoid muscles, she smiled up at him. Jesus, the man was tall. “Really. A nice soak in a hot bath and I’ll be good as new.”

  He gave her that Dom look of his that she was coming to recognize, the one that said He Who Must Be Obeyed. “Come here, princess.”

  She dropped her hands and walked three steps to where he stood, eyes locked on her, judging for himself. “Turn around.” She pivoted one hundred eighty degrees, presenting her back to him as he’d demanded. The next thing she felt was two large, talented hands and ten strong fingers capable of deep tissue massage, working the tightness from her muscles. His breath fanned her hair, and she quivered. They hadn’t even had sex, and this still ranked as the most erotic night of her life.

  “Keep that up, and I’m taking you home,” she murmured, only half joking.

  He
said nothing, just continued rubbing.

  She couldn’t pinpoint when things shifted. Maybe it was when he moved from her neck to her shoulders, or from her shoulders to her arms, rubbing small circles in the bends of each elbow and sending electricity coursing through her veins. She melted into him, letting her head fall back against his chest. When she felt his burgeoning manhood against her spine, she pressed her hips back against him, eliciting a low growl from the back of his throat.

  “Eleanor. Stop.” He gave her biceps a warning squeeze.

  “Sir. You started it.” She reached behind her back and found him. “I can finish it, if you’ll let me. Here, or you can take me home with you.”

  “Tomorrow is Monday,” he reminded her. “You work, do you not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I am afraid my gratification must wait. I want more than an evening, Eleanor. I shall want all night to explore the delights of your body, to bind you, suspend you, make you beg for release. I intend to possess you. All of you. That tempting mouth. That responsive body. I want to feel your clinging heat around my cock when I bury myself in your pussy and your arse. I want to hear you moan when I start to fuck it and make you fly apart for the fourth or fifth or sixth time that night. You’ll fall asleep wrapped in my arms. In the morning, you’ll come awake with my head between your thighs and your taste on my tongue. Is that something you would like, hmm? Do you trust me to give you what you need?”

  “Yes.” God, yes. She clenched her thighs and stifled a moan, wondering how much wetter she could get. Her black knit pants were already soaked with her juices.

  “Are you free next Saturday?” His fingers loosened, and he rubbed her arms, her shoulders, her neck, working magic with his hands, weaving it with the timbre of his voice. “There’s to be a ball at Netherfield, and I would be indebted to you, should you attend it with me. Every Janeite sub will be looking for a Dom Darcy, and I’d rather my dance card be filled with your name. Say yes, princess. Jewell has your measurements. All you need to do is make an appointment here for hair and wardrobe that day. Dinner will be served at six. The Janeites will have an hour to wander about, then the ball begins at eight p.m. My presence is required until midnight. Dancing will surely lead to temptation. Temptations will yield to indulgences. We can stay until the scene ends at two a.m., observing as many sinful pleasures as you so desire, or we can excuse ourselves for private play…at my home, this time. I want you to come prepared to stay the night.”