The question burned in her mind as she pushed the pants off to one side.
“No bra. But you did wear panties.” Oliver’s hand slid down her bare spine to land at the base. “White cotton panties. Did you think this would somehow dissuade me?”
She shrugged.
The cool metal settled at her hip. “Nice try. I actually like the simple things.”
The loud snip echoed through the room, and Veronica flinched as the cool air rushed over the exposed skin.
She flexed her fingers, fighting the urge to cover herself. It took a concentrated effort to keep her hands at her side.
I’m naked.
Except for this damned leather collar.
She’d never been fully naked during any of her sessions, even the ones where she’d had sex. Usually she let the sub take off what they needed to get the job done.
Now she was exposed.
Fully exposed, and she wasn’t happy about it.
She itched to reach up and tug at the collar again. She could feel the rough edges cutting into her skin.
Veronica rubbed her palms against her legs.
Maybe he won’t mind if—
“Touch it, and I’ll whip your ass so badly, you won’t sit down for a week.” The rough words grated in her ear.
Oliver moved out from behind her and went to one of the tables. He placed the medical scissors down.
What am I doing here?
Why don’t I leave?
“I can imagine what you’re thinking.” Oliver walked over to the chaise lounge where the toys had been laid out. “You’re trying to figure out what you’re doing here and if it’s worth readmittance to the club. You’re out of sorts because this is out of your control, out of your comfort zone.” He picked up a pair of black leather cuffs, the insides lined with rabbit fur. “Being on the other side is something you’d never thought about, never considered.”
Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed a bucket of sand.
“As a Dominant, you should always be considering what your sub is thinking, feeling.” He strolled back and stood in front of her. “Put your hands out.”
She did so, seeing her fingers tremble as he fastened the cuffs around each wrist.
The soft caress of the fur seemed out of place with what was going on, what was about to happen.
There isn’t going to be anything soft about this, she warned herself.
“Are you afraid? Is it fear or anticipation of what you’re going to feel, what you’re going to experience?” He glared at her. “Tell me.”
“A bit of both,” Veronica confessed.
“Good.” He smiled, and she had to hold back a shiver. “Position five.”
She knelt down and placed her hands behind her.
Oliver moved behind her and clipped the cuffs together with a short length of chain.
I can’t move.
Her head fell forward as she processed the position. Getting to her feet would be near-impossible—she would fall on her face. It could be done, but she’d end up rolling around to try to get up.
Veronica doubted she’d get that chance.
A bubble of fear rose in her throat as she waited. She could see Oliver and the love seat with all the assorted toys on display.
Remember your safe-word.
Chai.
She tried to control her breathing and failed, taking shallow pants as she watched him return to the seat and look over the various items.
Chai.
All I have to do is say it, and I’m out of here.
And of the clubs.
Veronica gritted her teeth together and forced down the fear.
I won’t break under this. This is nothing. I can take more.
Oliver turned back, and she recognized what he was holding.
Her lips curled together, the word hovering on her tongue.
He saw her eyes grow wide as he approached.
It was a calculated guess what would push her to the edge.
He’d chosen well.
“This, as you can see, is a blindfold.” He knelt and showed her the thick black padded mask. “Today we’re going to do a lesson in sensory deprivation. You understand?”
Before she answered, he slipped it over her head and tightened it at the back by pulling the strap against her short blonde hair.
The huff of air against his chest told him she was off balance, confused.
She’d expected something worse.
Nipple clamps, butt plugs, floggers and paddles like the ones she’d seen on the way in.
Oliver allowed himself a smile, sure she couldn’t see it.
Never tip your hand.
He put his arms around her and leaned in. “I’m going to help you to your feet.”
She wavered in his grip, disoriented from the mask.
He stepped away and watched her wobble.
“Don’t fall,” Oliver snapped. “Don’t you dare. You’re not a child learning how to walk.”
She froze in place.
Slowly, she rose, and he saw the pride in her posture, the refusal to give in.
Good.
Keep it up, Roni.
He picked up a riding crop and walked around her. “Imagine you’re on a private island, a club you’ve never been to before. It’s one of the more famous clubs. I’m sure you’ve read about them. Total anonymity, total privacy.” He touched her bare breast with the cold leather tip and saw her tense up. “We’ve come here as a Master and Slave. But I’m not sure I want to keep you for the week. Nothing personal, but I’m thinking about a change. Maybe a redhead.”
Veronica pressed her lips into a tight line, and he knew she wanted to say something.
“Don’t you dare.” He touched her lips with the crop. “Embarrass me, and I’ll give you over to the worst Master here.”
She flatted her mouth out into a tight line.
“Can you imagine what he’d do to you?” Oliver strolled around her before delivering a punishing slap with the crop to the back of her left leg. “He’d probably keep you naked all the time, available for whatever he wanted to do.”
He leaned in close. “Whatever he wanted. He could string you up and leave you there for hours, nipple clamps on your breast and a vibrator in your pussy going at full tilt with orders for you not to come until he returned. What would you think of that? No, don’t answer me.”
The sharp intake of breath told him she was deep in the fantasy, the blindfold pulling her far away from his house and her reality.
Another snap of the crop on her right butt cheek. “He wouldn’t listen to your pleas or maybe even your safe-word. And if he did, he’d bring you right back here to be passed on to another man. Or maybe a woman.”
She gasped as he ran the crop over her bare torso.
“Listen to me. Trust me.” He moved behind her. “Fall backwards. Now.”
The order crashed into her imagined world, and she reacted instinctively, filled with the need to please him.
Veronica arched back on her heels and let go.
Her world spun around her as she fell back, her internal balance out of whack between the lack of sight and the scenario.
I’m going to hit the floor.
I’m going to knock myself out.
I’m going to—
A pair of arms went around her, strong and tight.
Veronica felt the rough stubble grind against the back of her neck as he turned his head to the side. The flash of discomfort sent a frisson of desire through her despite her disorientation.
She smelled Oliver’s musk, his scent enveloping her as she settled to the ground against him.
On him.
Veronica took short sharp breaths, feeling the dizziness threaten to overwhelm her.
“Good.” His reassuring words caressed her ear. “Maybe I’ll keep you after all.”
They lay there for only a few seconds before he spoke again.
“I’m going to help you to your feet again. Be ready.”
She allowed him to move out from under her and went with his tugs and pulls, feeling the world shift again as she stood.
“Time to show you off to the other Masters.” He pushed her forward, and she felt something hard brush against her thighs.
Veronica tried to identify it.
A chair.
A bench.
Whatever it was, it was solid.
“Bend over.” He barked out the orders as she maneuvered herself. “Legs spread wide. Get your ass in the air.”
Her mind spun as she followed his commands, careful not to fall over.
I’ve done this to so many men—why does it feel different this time?
She couldn’t do anything with her hands cuffed behind her. The leather rested against the base of her spine, the rabbit fur brushing her wrists.
Something touched her bare ass, and she flinched.
“A display of discipline. There’s one fellow here who’d like to see you whipped raw. I’m not going to do that today, but if you misbehave, I might oblige him.”
Veronica knew this was only a fantasy; there was no one else in the room with them.
Her imagination took over, running wild.
Are you sure?
Maybe he’s brought in his staff, his friends. Others from the club. He’s rich enough to do exactly what he wants.
To you.
“If memory serves me right, I owe you five from a previous visit. And fifteen for your choice in clothing.”
Oh God.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she ducked her head.
Chai.
All I have to do is say it, and it’ll all be over.
She tensed up as something warm ran down her spine, settling at one cheek. His hand gripped her and squeezed hard.
“You’ve felt my hand. Time to move up to the big leagues.” His finger slipped between her legs, and Veronica gasped. “Hell, you’re already wet.” His voice was hoarse and low. “Damn.”
She tensed up and waited for the first slap.
Damn, she echoed. He’s right.
Chapter Eleven
My God, she’s beautiful.
Oliver stood behind her, trying to control his breathing. She was flushed from head to toe, her snow-white skin speckled with the heated rash he knew all too well.
She wants this even if she won’t admit it.
He was glad to be standing behind her—his arousal pressed against his pants with an urgent need.
One that was going to go unfulfilled today.
Remember who you are, he berated his libido. Remember what the goal is here.
He’d never had this problem with the others. True—he’d been turned on, but he’d always been able to control himself, stay focused on the end game here.
Show her what she’s been missing.
Teach her what to ask for.
Oliver watched as she flexed her fingers, the only movement she could make.
She’s still deep in the fantasy we’ve woven.
“Perhaps I should gag you before we start,” Oliver said, running his fingertips lightly over Veronica’s ass.
Her muscles twitched, more out of instinct than a conscious decision.
“I find the muffled whimpers most entertaining.”
Of course, if he did gag her, he’d have to give her another safety signal to use other than her safe-word. Maybe three quick grunts or snapping her fingers. After all, it was his responsibility as her Dom to ensure she was safe at all times.
“But then I couldn’t hear you count. And I want you to count.”
Veronica let out something akin to a sigh of relief.
Next time, I will gag you.
He made a mental note.
I won’t change my mind now.
Oliver gripped the paddle in his hand. “Do you remember how many strokes you’ve earned from your disobedience?”
The whispered response was too faint for him to hear.
He touched the leather to the back of her thighs, and she jumped.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Twenty.”
Oliver grinned at the touch of anger in her voice. “Yes. Twenty. I want you to count them off, Roni. Each and every one.”
The muscles in her legs and back tensed up in anticipation.
He waited long enough to see her relax before laying into her with measured strokes.
“One.” The annoyed cry came. “Two. Three.”
It wasn’t the pain that shocked Veronica.
It was the slow slide into pleasure.
She’d used the leather paddle before—it was one of her standard items. She knew the feel of it, the smell and the sensation when she slapped her hand to make that satisfying crack before applying it.
So she should have known how it’d feel. A bit more of a sting, a bit of a snap as it cracked across her ass.
Nothing special.
Then why was her head spinning, her crotch soaked with anticipation and her skin humming with anticipation as he drew back for every slap, every smack of the paddle?
“Six,” she gasped as it landed just below her ass, impacting with the sweet spot every Dom knew existed.
But she’d never imagined the warmth, the tingle of excitement running up into her core, the grinding need for another and another and another—
“Ten.”
Part of her mind catalogued Oliver’s efficient, well-aimed hits. Never the same spot twice, the rhythm slow enough to allow her a bit of recovery time, but never enough to—
“Eleven.”
Veronica gasped as the edge of the leather skimmed between her butt cheeks, the jolt shocking her even as her hips shot forward, wanting both more and less.
Her mind began to fuzz with the emotional rush, the pain diminishing into a low hum that overtook her senses, drowning out everything but the need to please him, to show how strong she was and how grand a man he was to have her at his beck and call—
“Twelve. Thirteen.”
Oliver heard the moans and sighs escaping her lips, her excitement only increasing with every count as she rubbed against the soft fabric and heightened her arousal.
She probably didn’t even know she was doing it, he mused.
But it couldn’t continue.
“Stop moving.” He dropped his arm to his side. The welcome warm throb of the exercise burned through his own muscles. “Stop,” Oliver barked, seeing no reaction.
A whimper reached his ears.
“Stop,” he repeated, slapping her butt with his free hand.
She froze.
“What number are we up to?”
There was no response.
Oliver put the paddle down and moved in. “Close your eyes.”
He pulled the blindfold free and tossed it away.
Veronica kept her head down as he walked around to kneel on the love seat in front of her.
He reached down under her chin and brought her up with one finger.
“Open your eyes. Slowly now—slowly,” he murmured.
Her pupils were dilated almost to the point of overtaking the last of the blue. She gazed at him as if he wasn’t there, lost in her own world.
Subspace.
His heart swelled with pride along with other parts of him.
For me.
Oliver stroked her forehead, pushing away wet blonde locks.
“What number are we up to?”
Her forehead furrowed, and for a second, he felt panic.
“Eighteen.” She paused. “
Sir.”
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Very good. And that leaves—”
“Two.” She licked bone-dry lips. “Two more, Sir.”
“Yes.” Oliver rose. “Ready yourself.”
She tensed up as he moved around and grasped the paddle again.
Oliver studied her pinked ass, the raised welts crisscrossing the snow-white skin.
You’ll remember this for a few days.
He swung the paddle down and heard the startled gasp, the moan that shot straight to his cock, daring him to continue.
“One more.” He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring himself or alerting her. “One more, Roni.”
She nodded.
The last smack of the paddle had him biting down on his lip.
If only—
He yanked his pants down and charged at her with an annoyed growl, angry with himself for holding out so long.
Oliver tugged on the cuffs keeping her hands bound behind her back as he thrust home, sinking into the wetness and the heat that scorched his body and soul.
Roni let out a scream of delight as he set a punishing pace, slamming into her as her fingers scrabbled against his torso, unable to do anything other than submit to him.
Finally—
Oliver dropped the paddle and stepped back.
Enough.
For both of us.
He moved closer. “I’m going to help you stand up.”
Oliver pulled her upright and unclipped the cuffs; unbuckling them to fall to the floor.
“Come here.” He led her back to the love seat and sat with her, holding both her hands.
The neatly folded blanket was under the seat as he’d arranged, the soft flannel perfect for this type of situation.
He pulled it out along with the cooler.
Oliver carefully wrapped the blanket around her, mummifying her as much as he dared. The dazed look had diminished only slightly as he sat beside her.
A slight tug brought her into his arms. The flannel blanket brushed against his wet skin, absorbing from both of them.
He rubbed her shoulder lightly, murmuring compliments to her as he watched her come back to herself.
So beautiful.
In a way, he envied submissives and their ability to release control so completely, so totally to another person. He couldn’t imagine doing it himself.
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 13