by Lynn Burke
Open mouthed, I stared at Stephen. Volunteer. Sub for another Dom. Had he lost his mind? It would seem his desire to humiliate me knew no bounds.
He pinched my ass, and I flinched, biting my tongue to keep from squealing. “Get up there.”
“You don’t have to volunteer if you don’t want to.”
Master Cooney’s quiet words drew my attention back to the dais. High cheekbones with a spattering of freckles, Grecian nose over a perfect set of lush lips with a cupid’s bow and teardrop, but the jawline shadowed by a hint of red scruff and the scar through his left eyebrow kept him from being pretty.
He offered a small smile, the kindness in his eyes a contradiction to the appearance of his massive body.
A teddy bear, I realized. “I-I’m fine.” I swallowed.
Master Cooney held out his hand to help me step onto the dais. I tore my un-sub-like stare from his face and glanced down at his wide palm and long fingers. The heat from before swept over me as our hands closed together, and my pulse kicked up. I inhaled a quick breath, my lungs filling with the spicy citrus cologne that had roused my sleeping libido in the lounge.
I was a tall woman, but I felt tiny beside him. He squeezed my hand. “Have a seat.”
I settled into the chair facing him, knees together and hands clasped in my lap. A quick glance over my right shoulder revealed Stephen sat near the middle of the group, his stare promising punishment if I embarrassed him in any way.
Like a good sub, I lowered my gaze to the floor.
Master Cooney went over some safety basics about circulation problems or mobility issues and care with pressure points to avoid nerve damage. “Most damage is caused by excessive pressure, so make sure you can easily fit one finger between the rope and skin.”
He went on to explain where those points were located and encouraged communication at all times between partners.
Master Cooney kneeled on the floor in front of me, offering me a close-up view of his thick pectorals.
“Do I have permission to touch you, Becky?” he asked as the students shuffled around in my periphery.
My gaze flitted up to his face. The warmth in his eyes and the fact he’d asked my permission to touch me warmed me through, and I smiled. “Yes.”
“If at any time you’re uncomfortable, say stop and I will do so immediately,” he said, his bass voice quiet and once more pebbling my skin. My breasts felt heavy, my nipples suddenly aching. “Becky?” he whispered.
“My safeword is stop,” I whispered back, still staring into his dark eyes.
He dipped his head. “If you feel any pain, odd twinges, tingling, or loss of sensation, you tell me immediately.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Can I have your hand, Becky?”
I unclasped my hands and offered him the right.
Cradling the back of my hand in his, he slid his thumb across my palm and up over my wrist. A shiver wound its way up my arm and to my breasts as he gently probed areas, asking about pain or tingling, and my anxiety eased, replaced by a foreign sensation of warmth settling between my thighs.
By the time he reached the inside of my upper arm, my nipples hardened to points, and a strange tingling unrelated to pain throbbed in my core.
“Go ahead and unravel the length of rope that was on your chair.” Master Cooney picked up a length of silk rope off the floor beside him and unwound it, two ends tumbling from his hands to the floor as he angled to face the audience. “The center of a folded rope is called bight, and that’s a term I’ll be using a lot. We’ll start with the most basic of ties, a Single Cuff.”
“Hold out your right hand.”
I did as told.
“Take the bight and wrap it around your submissive’s arms just above the wrist,” he told the class.
His fingers brushed over my wrist again, and the tremors inside of my body quieted. The arousal I realized he’d brought to life in my body hummed. Explanation of what he did poured from his lips, but I couldn’t tear my focus off his face and the concentration lining his forehead as those lush lips moved.
I clenched my knees together as wetness threatened to ease from between my thighs.
He paused, gaze flitting to my pubic hair peeking out from between my chubby stomach and fat thighs. His chest rose on a deep inhale, and he cleared his throat. “Tie a square knot using the bight and the rest of the rope to create a cuff.” He continued the demonstration while my cheeks burned.
I lowered my head so my shoulder-length hair would hide my face from the audience.
“The lead rope can then be attached to whatever you wish, even another part of the body.”
The heat of his body left me. “Subs, lift your wrists so I can see the beauty your Doms have wrapped your wrists in.” He paused as movement reached my ears. “Well done, all of you. Moving on…”
Eyes closed, I lost myself in the rumble of his voice, the soft touch of his fingers as he demonstrated various bondage basics. He moved on to a chest harness and had me stand while circling my ribs several times, roping me. Senses heightened, I turned into his cues as he touched me lightly on the back or spun me slowly.
“Are you all right, Becky?” he asked with a mere whisper.
“Mmm,” was all I managed to mumble. Time had lost meaning, and I wanted nothing more than to float on air.
“Why don’t the submissives sit down,” Master Cooney said, a hand on my shoulder, “and I’ll walk you all through an example of sexual bondage.”
I sank into the chair, his words lighting a fire in my blood. Wetness dripped from between my thighs, and a longing like I’d never known, flooded my mind. I wanted Master Cooney to touch my pussy. I wanted him to stick his fingers inside of me and bring me to climax for the first time.
A length of hemp rope in hand, he once more kneeled before me.
My lips parted as I panted for breath.
“Are you turned on?” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Y-yes.”
“Will that make your husband angry?”
The thought of Stephen brought me quickly back to the present. “He’s not my husband, but yes. It will.”
“Should I stop?”
“No.” The word flew from my lips. “Please.”
Lips pursed, he dipped his head once and ran a hand down my calf to my ankle, shifting my leg open, explaining other pressure points to the audience.
“First, we’re going to secure the ankle.”
Once more, his touch and voice sent me to la la land, and all thoughts of anything outside of my quiet space dissipated. One ankle secure, he pulled the rope upward, looped it around the top of my calf, and secured it before using the rest of the rope to tie my wrist to the chair’s arm. I tested the rope as he stood to inspect the audience’s work, but couldn’t find any give.
Rather than panic, I sighed and closed my eyes.
“Becky?” he asked once more, hand on my left knee.
“Green.” I whispered the only word that came to mind.
He pushed my left leg wide, sending a rush of cool air over my exposed pussy. My pulse thrummed in my ears, drowning out his voice as he tied my leg and other wrist to the chair.
Spread open for him, at his mercy.
I’d never felt such freedom in my life.
The audience mingled to my right, unable to see my wet, dripping folds. I floated, arousal controlling my core, my mind.
Master Cooney’s hand lingered on my left knee, and I swear a groan escaped his lips. “You are beautiful, Becky.”
I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t.
“I wish we were alone so I could taste the nectar between those gorgeous thighs.”
A shudder rippled down through me, and I forced my eyelids up, once more becoming aware of where I sat.
Heat and desire filled his brown eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in him.
“U-untie me.” I swallowed. “Please. Stephen can’t see me aroused like this.”
; Master Cooney’s brow furrowed, and with a few flicks of a knife, he freed me from my bonds. “There’s a bathroom just through that door,” he said, keeping his voice low and gesturing to a door at the dais’s end. “I’ll make sure Stephen stays here, give you time to clean up.”
“Thank you.” I rubbed my wrists, fingers trailing over the slight indents. No red marks like Stephen’s knots left on my skin.
Murmurs of the other students filtered through my brain, and I hurried on shaking legs toward the door Master Cooney had indicated, my damp thighs rubbing together with self-lubricated friction. Fingers shaking, I pulled on the handle, a sensor light flicking on overhead as I stepped over the threshold. I clicked the lock shut behind me and breathed a sigh of relief.
So this is what it feels like to be aroused. A giggle escaped me, and I ran a fingertip through my slippery, soaked pussy, trying to imagine how good a cock would feel while turned on.
Stephen let me know long ago that he wouldn’t marry a frigid woman. I tried for him, but never felt the excitement I’d read about. No moans, no pants, or quivering pussy like in the porn videos he made me watch to try to turn me on. But…
There’s nothing wrong with me.
The thought slammed into my brain, and twin tears slid from both of my eyes. Perhaps now that I’d been woken up, things would be better between us.
Chapter Three
Daniel
Becky had faded bruises on various parts of her body. Some still black and blue, others faded to a dull yellow. She’d been timid and jumpy until I asked permission to touch her. Her eyes offered trust she had no reason to give, her smile a warmth that had filled my chest.
I’d never felt instantly connected to a woman in such a way. I’d also never seen a woman drift to the edge of subspace so damn quickly. That, along with the curves of her body, made me want to tie and string her up, petal-soft skin bulging between the loops of my rope. Her more than a handful breasts left free for my tongue and teeth.
I’d fought to keep my cock from jutting out, riding my leathers during the class. I knew enough about arrogant assholes to expect her boyfriend to be a raging jealous jerk off. Bad enough, he’d sat still as a stone, small smile on his lips while I used his sub as a prop.
Stephen made his way up front, gaze locked on me as I answered questions and offered suggestions for the attendees to come back the following Friday for Master Lamond’s second class.
“My Becky was lovely tonight,” Stephen said once he had my attention.
“She was.” I kept my tone neutral and reached for one of the coils of rope on the floor. “She’s a natural submissive. You’re lucky to have her.”
“No else wanted her, so she was an easy catch.” The sneer in his voice pissed me the hell off.
“How long have you been together?” I forced myself to keep with the pleasantries rather than break his nose like I wanted to.
“Eight years. We met our freshman year in high school.”
“Long time,” I muttered, wrapping my rope and imaging it around Stephen’s throat—tight enough he couldn’t breathe.
“Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.” He straightened his shoulders, thin lips twisting into a fake-ass smile. “She’s a great slave, and scenes of her on video…” He shook his head, gaze flitting to the bathroom door she had disappeared behind earlier. “Becky holds nothing back. A vocal whore without the fake tears and moans of real porn stars. We have over fifty-thousand subscribers. You ought to check out my work sometime.” He handed a card to me, and I told myself I only accepted it to get him to shut up and leave.
“Ah, there’s my Becky.” A smile lifted his lips, but his expression held no love.
Why the hell did he stay with her if—according to his bitching earlier—she didn’t get aroused when scening with him? Why keep a sub you didn’t connect with?
Sick fuck.
Scowling, I glanced at Becky as she walked toward us, hands clasped, shoulders slumped, and head down, hair shielding her face.
For her sake, I hoped she had erased all evidence of her arousal from between her thighs. If Stephen had been able to see the glistening on her thickened labia like I had, breathed in the honeyed scent of her, I felt sure he would have flown into a rage and tried to kick the shit out of me.
“Enjoy yourself?” Stephen asked, clicking the lead rope back onto her collar.
“I suppose, Sir,” she said with a trace of shakiness to her voice.
“Did Master Cooney’s ropes turn you on?”
“N-no,” she whispered.
Any good Dom would know she lied by the flinch and cower tucking her body in on itself.
Not Stephen. He scowled. “The fuck, Becky?” He turned and started stalking off, dragging her along behind him. “Not even getting tied up by a Shibari Master was enough to get your cunt juices flowing. There’s something wrong with you.”
I saw red. Wanted to choke the life out of Stephen wannabe Dom, fuck-face Magee. Mother fucker didn’t realize—or just didn’t give a shit—that his words could hurt worse than fists.
By the cowering posture of the woman on his leash, I expected his words did just that.
The room cleared, and I threw the bundled ropes into the bin beneath the table. Hating that I needed to know, I made my way back to the lounge, gaze roaming the crowd.
They had stayed.
I ordered a double Grey Goose on the rocks and stood against a wall, acting the part of a bouncer. Chantelle also entered the lounge, something she hardly ever did, and meandered around the room, her gaze taking in every person, calculating as always.
She stood behind Becky for some time, her gaze resting on Stephen as he enjoyed an exhibitionist paddle on his submissive. He stroked himself through his cheap leather pants, Becky turning her head away from the scene, head lowered as usual.
I moved around the perimeter of the room, closing the distance between us. His eyes gleamed, had that glint my dad’s always got right before he went on a beating spree.
Chantelle caught my attention with a small wave. She motioned me toward the reception area with an incline of her head.
I followed, but my gaze lingered on Becky.
The double door shut behind me, and I followed Chantelle into her office. “Have a seat,” she said. While usually a master of hiding her emotions, she couldn’t keep the anger from her eyes.
“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?” I asked, settling onto the leather chair.
“Becky is my cousin—”
“Shit.”
“—and I set up tonight because I wanted you to meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because physically she’s your kind of woman, the perfect submissive for your dominance preference, and you’re all too familiar with what she’s living right now.”
The muscle in my jaw ticked.
“I’m also sure she stays with Stephen out of insecurity. Showing her she’s beautiful and desired beyond him is the only thing that is going to set her free.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad.” Chantelle stared at me, brow furrowed. “Last I spoke with her, she said Stephen doesn’t ever apologize or plead for forgiveness anymore.”
“Fucking cock sucker.” I swore a few more times, my hands fisting on my thighs. “Have you seen any of the videos Stephen brags about?”
“Yes, but I suggest you don’t.”
I raised a brow.
“You’ll wind up in jail.”
“Fuck.”
“I need you to do next Friday’s class.”
“No.”
“I’ll pay you double.”
I hesitated, although I wanted to reiterate my previous answer. God help me, I wanted to help her cousin.
“I want you to send Stephen over the edge, make his true colors shine, and open Becky’s eyes to the tyrant she’s been living beneath for eight years.”
“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that when she is clearly uncomfort
able in this environment?”
“She clearly enjoyed your ropes and touch.”
“Security cameras keep you informed.”
“Always,” Chantelle said even though I hadn’t asked a question. “You turned her on for the first time in her life—if what she’s whispered to me in secret is true.”
I tipped my head back, eyes closed. “Goddamnit.”
Clothing rustled, and I lowered my head to find Chantelle leaning forward, elbows on her desk. “I’ll bet wrapping her nipples in a chest harness and stringing her up would send her flying.”
“You don’t mean into subspace,” I muttered, the images she created in my mind twitching my cock and loosening my fists.
That scheming glint returned to her hazel eyes. “Stephen has never seen Becky climax—she never has climaxed. If another man fulfilling her in ways he’s been unable to wouldn’t set him off and give me reason to have him removed from the premises, nothing will.”
“And Becky?”
“Becky will stay with me, and before you ask, Stephen has no idea where I live.”
“And when she enters that excuses phase that will land her back in Stephen’s grip?”
Her manicured nails tapped on her desk. “She’s not going to make it to that phase.”
My brow furrowed. “And why is that?”
Chantelle leaned toward me. “Because”—her voice lowered—“you’re going to take my blessing to pursue Becky and quietly lay out Stephen if he comes sniffing around.”
I huffed a snort of laughter. “You’re one calculating bitch.”
She sat back, the Cheshire cat grin lifting her Botoxed lips. “You have no idea.”
“I’m not a violent man, though.”
Chantelle stood and rounded her desk. “No, but I’m sure you could find a way to send him running, tail between his skinny-ass legs.”
“Little man complex.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Now”—she opened her office door—“rather than get your panties in a bunch from watching that asshole drag her around, head home. Make a plan for next weekend.”