by Ward, Deena
“Wait a minute, I thought we agreed to a trial weekend thing.”
“I don’t follow.”
I half raised up, my hands propped on my knees. I twisted around so I could see him. “I mean, are we seriously going to spend the next few hours doing paperwork? We were going to wait for that, remember?”
“What I remember is that you agreed to do whatever I asked of you.”
“Yeah, well, right. But —”
“But ...” He arched an eyebrow and looked amused.
“Crap.” I realized I’d made a mistake. More than one.
I wanted to smack my forehead. I’d broken my pose without permission, looked him in the eyes and improperly addressed him.
“I just blew it, didn’t I?” I asked.
He laughed then, a rich sound that filled the room. “You didn’t even make it five minutes.”
I stood straight, turned and faced him, my hands on my hips. “You set me up, making me get naked just to do boring paperwork. It’s not fair.”
“As a full-time sub, it shouldn’t matter if it’s boring or not. You’re supposed to be focused on pleasing me.”
“You can’t honestly tell me that doing a bunch of paperwork right now would please you more than anything else.”
“You’re right. Testing you is what pleased me most.”
“And I failed the test.”
“Gloriously.”
“And quickly,” I said with a reluctant grin.
He tossed the big pile of papers onto his desk. “I’m afraid that, as a sub, you’re not going to be of any use to me whatsoever in practical matters.”
“I could probably make you coffee.”
“I’d be afraid to count on it. No, I think your service will purely be of the sexual sort.”
“Hey, that’s okay with me.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
“Should it?”
“I guess not. But I do expect to be obeyed.”
“I want to obey.”
“Okay, then we’ll try again.” He picked up the big pile of papers and stacked them neatly.
I groaned. “I thought you said my service would be —”
He gave me a tough look that reminded me I was on the verge of blowing it again. He pulled open a drawer, re-filed the papers in a folder, then began to unbutton his shirt. I liked that last turn of events.
He slipped off his shirt and handed it to me. “Put it on.”
I shrugged into it reluctantly, then he pulled me between his knees and buttoned me up, rolling up the sleeves, too, so they weren’t hanging down over my hands. He stood then, and took me by my hand.
“Come on,” he said, and we headed for the door.
“Where are we going?”
“I thought you wanted to see my dungeon.”
“Aha! So you do have one. I was right. I knew it.”
“You were. And that’s where we’re heading.”
“How exciting.”
We moved down the corridor and toward the main hall.
“Hey, wait,” I said. “We left my clothes and things in your study.” I pulled on his hand.
He kept walking, taking me along with him. “No matter. Charity or someone else will get them in the morning.”
“But, it’ll be obvious that I got naked in there. I mean, my bra and stuff. Naked. She’ll know.”
“So?”
“So, what will she think?”
“She’s paid not to think.”
I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be able to help it.”
“You’re right. I meant, Charity understands that her job depends on her pretending she neither notices nor has opinions about what we do in the privacy of our own home.”
“So it’s just an act. Okay then. Though I don’t know how she does it. I couldn’t. I’d find that underwear and wonder what went down in the study.”
We climbed the wide staircase to the second floor.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Charity. “Anyway, I’ll just come down and get my things later, before I go to bed.”
“As you wish. However, I’m wondering why you’re spending this time worrying over something so inconsequential when we’re on our way to my dungeon. We’re almost there. I’d think you’d be worrying about the terrible, wicked things I’m going to be doing to you in a few minutes.”
“Well, hell. Thanks so much,” I said. “I’m worried now.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling.
Truth was, my stomach actually was filled with nervous flutters. We walked down the corridor past our bedroom, then stopped in front of the locked door one room down.
Gibson touched a piece of the trim and it popped open, revealing a numerical keypad underneath.
“Ooh. It’s so secret hidden lair,” I said.
He entered a short code, a small beep sounded and he turned the handle. The door opened outward, showing another door immediately inside, made of thick metal.
“Sound proofing,” Gibson said, as he opened the door.
After flipping on the lights, he pulled me into the room, then shut both doors behind us.
I stood there and took my first look around my lover’s dungeon.
Chapter 15
I had imagined what this room might look like so many times, I was disconcerted when it didn’t resemble what I’d fancied. I didn’t think we’d be entering from the hall, had thought we’d have to traverse a hidden passageway or two, go up or down dusty staircases, wind through unused sections of the mansion, probably descend far underground, or climb high into a cobwebbed attic.
Once we were actually in the dungeon, I imagined it as a vast space, packed with every conceivable sexual torture device known to dom-kind. I envisioned walls covered with scads of whips and paddles, floggers and whatnot. Chains dangling from every surface. Racks made of rusty iron and aged wood. Shelves loaded with equipment the uses for which I dared not contemplate.
And the lighting. It would be shadowy, gloomy, flickery. Strains of a dark, classical musical score would pound in the background. It would smell like candle wax, leather, latex and sex.
I felt a little silly, standing in Gibson’s actual lair, comparing my silly gothic fantasies with reality.
Gibson’s dungeon was a large, but not huge, room, with walls covered in a dark brown padded material, for sound proofing, I presumed. Racks, shelves and many of the pieces of equipment were made of immaculate stainless steel. Yes, there were some chains hanging in a few places, but they were as spotless and shiny as everything else in the place.
There were a few wooden devices in the room, but wood was a rarity elsewhere. The floor was tiled, and covered in places with thick black mats, some rubber, some padded. There was an open shower in a corner. Closed cabinets lined one wall. Shelves held identical, labeled boxes. No whips or anything of the sort were on display. I assumed everything was stashed away.
The lighting was even and bright. There was no music. It smelled of cleaner, leather and ... maybe sex.
It was nothing at all like I’d imagined. I glanced at Gibson, who watched me closely, perhaps judging my reaction.
“It’s nice,” I said.
“You’re disappointed.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just surprised that it’s not more dungeon-y.”
“This is the real thing, Nonnie. Not some amusement-park house of horrors.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean anything against the room. It’s good that it’s so, so, clean and modern.”
“See those doors?” He pointed to both sides of the rooms. “That one opens into our bedroom and the other one into the bedroom on the other side. Hidden doors, behind the big wardrobes in the rooms. They swing out.”
“Oh, wow. That’s cool.”
“Exactly.” He flipped open a panel on the wall and showed me a large display screen. “State of the art control board. Lighting, temperature, sound, air movement, everything can be controlled from h
ere.” He tapped the screen a few times and the lighting dimmed to a warm glow, some smooth instrumental music flowed into the room through hidden speakers.
“I like that. It’s nice.” I said.
“Some of these simple-looking pieces of equipment have multiple uses, change into different shapes for different purposes.”
Okay, now I was getting impressed. I eyed the equipment with a more critical eye than I had used before. One table in particular drew my attention. It was a slim table on a pedestal, with metal contraptions dangling from the sides. It looked like it could bend in several ways, and tilt in any direction. I felt a flutter down low in my belly.
“I see,” I said, and shuddered.
“Are you cold?” He reached for the panel.
I shook my head. No. Even though I was only wearing a shirt and my feet were bare, I was plenty warm. Growing warmer by the moment.
Gibson pushed my hair behind my ear, ran a finger down my jawline. “I’ve waited a long time to have you in this room.”
“I’ve waited a long time to be here, Sir.” I lay my hand against his bare chest, enjoyed the spring of his firm flesh under my palm.
He smiled then, a sexy little turning-upward at the edges of his kissable lips. He held my gaze as he undid the buttons on my/his shirt, then he turned me around and gently slid the shirt off my shoulders, down my arms, until it dropped away, and he tossed it aside.
“You insisted that rather than fill out paperwork this weekend, we try new things, correct?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
His fingertips grazed the sides of my arms, raising goosebumps as he traveled. “So instead of asking if you’d like to be locked in a cage, you’d prefer that I just put you in one so you can experience it firsthand?”
“Er, cage? Well, maybe not so much that.”
“How about pretending to be a puppy dog? Some people enjoy that.”
“Really? Huh.”
“You’d like to try it, just in case.”
“Not really, unless it’s something you’re into. I might try then.”
“How about caning, breath control, abrasion? Shall we give those a whirl?”
“Uh, not on my account.
His palms floated down over my sides, hips and thighs. “How about humiliation? I’ll call you nasty names. Would you like me to call you a dirty little slut?”
“No. Do you want to call me that?”
“That’s beside the point. I already know what I like and don’t like. You’re the one who hasn’t done her homework.”
I sighed and leaned back against his warm chest. “Okay, I get it. But is it so bad that I just want to do whatever you want to do, Sir?”
“It’s not, as long as what I want is within your limits.”
“I promise I’ll use my safe word if what you do is too much for me.”
He flattened his hands over my stomach, his fingers so close to my bare mound that my clitoris twitched. “What if I asked you to get on your hands and knees, to crawl across the floor to me, then kiss my feet and plead with me to give you a thorough paddling?”
“I’d try.”
“Would it excite you?”
“I don’t know. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On you, Sir.”
He took a long, shuddering breath. His hands roved over my hips, slipped between us and cupped my ass cheeks. “There’s only one thing I’m thinking about at the moment. It’s not been far from my thoughts since you brought it up. I’m particularly recalling how you said you liked it.”
He pulled my cheeks apart and touched my asshole with his fingertips. Now it was my turn to shudder. “Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice whisper-light.
“Then we’ll put these other issues aside for tonight, and we’ll proceed with what we already know.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Then he backed away from me, his warm hands leaving my trembling body. He led me over to one of the metal table contraptions. I stood nearby while he moved the equipment around, made some adjustments, lowered a small, padded seat (or what I thought was a seat, anyway). When he had it where he wanted it, he waved me over.
He soon had me in place, my stomach resting on the small seat, and my legs spread and bent below me. I was basically in a position similar to being on my hands and knees, but the bulk of my weight was carried on the seat, with the remainder on my hands, knees and feet, which were strapped into place.
He pressed a button and, with a quiet whir, the contraption rose in height. Another button lowered it. He could set me wherever he wanted. It also tilted side to side and front to back. He adjusted the apparatus until I was where he wanted me, then he walked over to one of the built-in cabinets.
I could barely see him from the corner of my eye, so instead of straining my neck to see what he was doing, I settled on testing the bonds of my restraints. Very little give. I’d missed this, the titillation of helpless reveal.
He returned to me, and his hands glided over my back, curved around my ass. Then came a dollop of something cold. Lubricant. His fingertips spread it over my asshole. He was headed straight to it, I realized. No build up. I steadied myself for his entry.
I remembered to push against him, which eased the discomfort of his entry. He pressed the lubricant inside me with one finger and worked it around. I moaned lightly. It had been a long time since that brief weekend in the condo, but I was ready for this all the same. I’d been wanting it for a while.
“You’re so tight and hot,” he said. He pushed another finger inside me. “Yes, open to me.”
I moaned again, let my head fall.
Then his other hand explored the folds of my pussy, tugging on my labia, flicking over my clit. In no time his fingers were inside my pussy, too, sliding in and out in counterpoint to the motion of his fingers in my ass.
I drifted on the sensations, on the feeling of helplessness from the restraints, on the tangled pleasures from his fingers inside me. I floated on the music and on Gibson’s words, the sexy way he encouraged me, the sound of his breathing, the thud of my heart.
“Don’t come,” he told me, more than once. And he’d work my clitoris until I thought I would fail him and climax without permission. Then he’d pull back, halt the ascent, let me fall before building me up again.
“Don’t come. Yes. Good.”
Then it was something different. Something cold shoving against my asshole. Entering me. A stretch, a long slide and push. I knew what this thing was. Had felt it before. An anal probe. Oh God, I wanted to say, but could not. I became a thing of guttural sounds, grunts, groans and moans. Gasps and sighs.
When the probe was inside me as far as it would go, I shuddered all over.
“Beautiful,” he said, pulling it out of me, then pushing it back in. “You should see this. Next time, perhaps, I’ll bring out the mirrors, make you watch.”
I groaned. My stomach flipped and my muscles clenched.
He fucked me with the probe slowly and with obvious relish. “Perhaps I’ll have you fuck yourself in front of the mirror. I’d like that. Watching you push this thing in and out of yourself. You’d hate it ... and love it.”
I could only moan, and know he was right.
He tormented me by pulling the probe all the way out before shoving it past my tight ring of muscles again. I squirmed under this treatment, wishing he’d leave it inside, wishing he’d shove it in harder, no, softer. No, harder.
I lost track of what I wanted.
“Don’t come.”
Fingers. Entries and exits. A pinch. A pull. A twist. Shove. Flick.
Ahh, please.
“Don’t come.”
Hard. So hard. Holding back. Panting. Then came the harsh rasp of his breath growing louder than mine. Fucking. Fuck me. Yes.
And again, no coming.
Then the probe was gone, and something different prodded against my puckered flesh. Something large. Too large. It stretched me and began to hurt, sting. I gas
ped.
I craned my neck, had to see what this thing was that was opening me too wide. I could make out the handle in his hand. A plug. I should have known. Black. Bulbous. Too bulbous. I shuddered.
Then I looked up into Gibson’s face. I shivered all over from the ferocity I saw there, the sinful intent in his eyes, in the clench of his jaw and the sinews in his neck. He held the plug in one hand, and pressed against my lower back with the other. He didn’t notice I’d turned to look at him, being too engrossed in forcing the plug inside me.
He wanted to ram that thing inside me, hard, make me cry out from the pain, the invasion. I knew it. Saw the nefarious urge all over him. And I knew it would hurt like hell, what he wanted, but not truly harm me.
I could take it. Take it for him. For me. The moment he crammed that big plug inside me would be the instant I’d soar away, off into that special place. Send me there. Push me there.
“Yes,” I whispered, a sound so soft I didn’t imagine he’d hear it.
But he did. His head whipped up, he met my gaze. So dangerous, that look, it made me shudder, jangled my nerves. He thrust the plug a millimeter further.
I cried out softly. Closed my eyes. Preparing.
Now he would do it. I relaxed myself as much as I could. Readied for the assault.
Now.
Waited for it.
Waited.
It didn’t come.
I opened my eyes. Looked to Gibson.
He was different now. Changed. The intensity had drained away, the unrestrained hunger gone ... where? Why?
“What’s your safe word?” he asked, his voice a tight clip.
I hardly knew what to answer. “Uh ... yellow.”
“Why haven’t you used it?”
“I didn’t need to.”
He shook his head, then he looked back down at my ass. He removed the plug and laid it gently on the nearby table. “You’re not ready for it yet.”
I swallowed hard, my mouth having gone dry. “I wanted it.”
“No. Not yet. Face the front. Now. Don’t turn around again.”
I did as he commanded, bent away from his tight features, and his befuddling actions. My body buzzed from what he almost did to me.