Chapter 2 #3
After bending her left knee to lean against the wall, she patted the bench between her legs. “Sit here, please.”
Good start. He sat where she indicated, feeling her left leg behind him, a pressure on his ass. To his pleasure, she set her right leg across his lap, close enough that the inside of her knee pressed on his dick.
He stared straight ahead and considered the merits of icy mountain streams, glaciers, and igloos. Didn’t relieve shit.
“Now, Ben, first, this is just a scene for the next hour or so. Nothing more. I don’t know how much you know about BDSM, but I’m not taking you on as a slave. I’m just going to give you a taste and perhaps help you put a curb on that tongue of yours.
In other words, she was warning him not to get his expectations up. They’d play, and then she’d toss him back where she found him. He kept his face impassive and nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Then let’s discuss your limits. What will you absolutely not do? What are you unsure about? And do you have any medical—or emotional—problems I should know about?”
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to think worth shit with her leg rubbing his cock, he turned slightly toward her as if paying attention—which angled him enough to avoid the full-on pressure. Limits. All right.
“No permanent damage. No scarring. And I’d prefer not to talk in a falsetto.” He considered. “I don’t know you well enough for whips or anal shit.”
“Well reasoned. Bondage?”
Oh hell. He could feel his muscles tense.
In the low lighting, her eyes seemed more gray than blue. “That looks like definitely no restraints.”
After a second, he nodded. “I’d probably not do well if you put me in something I couldn’t get loose from.”
“That’s good to know.” She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. Her callused palms were a jarring contrast to her delicate fingers. “How about pain? You seemed rather…interested…in getting your ass whipped.”
“Mistress, if pain pleases you, I’m willing to give it a try.” He heard his words hang in the air. Fuck, had he said that to her? But yeah, he had. And meant it too.
The surprised pleasure in her eyes and the way she squeezed his fingers was as satisfying as the timeless moment of a perfect shot.
“All right, we’ll keep it within those limits and see what happens,” she said.
He had to say, he got off on her quick decisiveness. No waffling back and forth. No “Are you sure you want to?” or expecting him to read her mind and know what she wanted. She told him right up front how she felt and what she expected of him. Fucking relief.
As if to emphasize that, she reached up and removed the elastic band holding his hair back.
“If I want your hair tied back,” she said gently, “I’ll do it.
” She tucked the band into his jeans pocket.
“Now go over to the St. Andrew’s cross”—she pointed to the seven-feet-high X-shaped device—“and remove your clothes. You can leave on your underwear if you’re uncomfortable. ”
“That’d be a break…if I wore any.”
Her eyes lit with laughter. “In that case, I get a treat, don’t I?”
The soft grunt of pain she gave when she tried to move her leg from his lap reminded him of her sore ribs. Crazy woman. He put a hand under her calf and eased her foot down.
He straightened and realized she’d braced herself on his shoulder. Her mouth was only an inch from his, and her breath was scented with strawberries. Hell, he’d already won a punishment. What was one more? He closed the distance and brushed his lips against hers. Oh yeah.
Before he could take more, she’d gripped his hair and pulled his head back. “Ben,” she chided. “I think you know you’re overstepping your bounds.”
“Mmm.” Damn, she had soft lips. And a strong hand—her hold on his hair was damn tight. “Perhaps you’d better lay out the rules of engagement, Ma’am.”
“All right. First, we’re not a D/s couple, so these rules are only for the dungeon.”
His swift regret at the limitation was surprising.
“You employ the proper terms of respect already. Remember to speak only when asked—or if there is a matter affecting your safety. No touching unless given permission. The safeword here is red, which means the scene stops completely. Use yellow if you need something but don’t want a complete halt.”
Forget that halt shit. “I suppose it’s green for all systems go?”
“That’s right. I should ask if you have a problem with my hands—or anything else—on your cock and balls.”
I’d have a problem if you didn’t touch me. A sense of caution amended the words to a polite, “No problem at all, Mistress.”
“Excellent. Now do as I said.”
A stint in the military pretty much wiped out modesty and his sojourn in a hospital had eliminated the rest. In front of the St. Andrew’s cross, Ben stripped down. He had a massive erection, but he figured the good Mistress might’ve been annoyed if he hadn’t been aroused.
A black suede overnight-sized bag sat nearby. She’d have her so-called toys in it. His anticipation grew.
Hips swinging gently, she sauntered over, and his mouth watered. She was slender, but her curvy ass would fill his big paws nicely.
In turn, she was looking at him with…enjoyment. Unlike some Masters he’d seen, she wasn’t impassive but openly showed that she appreciated what she saw.
No, idiot, you can’t flex your muscles for her.
Her hand ran down his chest, ruffled the hair, and traced a puckered scar on his right side. “Bullet?”
Luckily, the insurgent had only hit him with a high-velocity ball, or he’d bear a fist-sized exit wound. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Her fingers pressed deeper. “It fractured your rib, I see.” Without waiting for his reply, she continued.
Soft hands over his belly, around his back and shoulders.
Down his arms. His legs. She found all his scars and every bone he’d ever busted.
Hell, his doctors had never checked him over so thoroughly.
“Spread your legs.” She tugged on his pubic hair. Cupped his balls and massaged lightly. Her hand closed around his cock—his docs had never done that—and it took every single piece of control not to shoot his wad.
Her fingers clamped down in warning. “Don’t come without permission, Benjamin.”
“Understood, Ma’am.” His voice probably sounded like a rooster being strangled. But, oddly enough, her command let him back away from the edge. His hands, which had clenched, eased open.
And she saw. Her gaze met his, straightforward, no games. “You please me, Ben.”
You fucking please me too, woman. Wisely, he also kept those words shut down.
“Face the cross and hold onto those pegs over your head.”
Each upright bar had an iron peg sticking out.
He closed his fingers around them, which put his arms in an upraised V shape.
In the pause between one heartbeat and another, he realized the music had changed to the ominous “Let Me Break You” by London after Midnight.
The music’s effect in this dark, cold dungeon was far more threatening than in his well-lit entry.
He could hear a woman sobbing and the snap of something—like a whip. His gut tightened, and he pulled in a slow inhalation.
“Your orders are to hold onto those pegs and not let go. No matter what I do. Can I trust you to do that for me, Ben?” Anne’s husky voice drew him back, as stabilizing as the wooden frame supporting his body.
“You can, Mistress.” He gripped harder. He’d die before he let one go.
“I’m going to hurt you, Ben—because this is what I told you I’d do. And because this is what you obviously want me to do.”
Actually, he’d have agreed to anything that would gain him her attention and touch. Pain would be nothing new to him.
“But, because you please me, because this is your first time”—her furry voice touched his ears and stroked over his skin like a many-times-washed fleece—“and because I feel like giving you a lesson, I’m going to give you so much more than mere pain.”
Talk about making him sit up and take notice.
Hell, his body was already well past reveille, as if the cells had downed a gallon of coffee.
As her fingertips brushed over his ass—which she hadn’t touched before, he realized—his muscles twitched.
She pressed her finger deeper, then gave him sweet, sweet pats, like a splattering of rain.
He huffed a laugh. That was a beating?
And he’d been worried?
“Is that Ben?” The almost inaudible voice came from behind him. Sounded shocked. More whispers drifted over his ears. He disliked having his back to the door, but fuck, this was the Shadowlands. He knew all the people here.
And, oddly enough, he trusted that the slender bounty hunter could probably take out nine-tenths of the members without breaking a sweat.
The rhythm of her patting hands on his ass paused for a second. He could imagine the gossips’ expressions when she turned to look at them and undoubtedly gave them one of her ice-through-the-heart stares. The voices sure stopped, leaving only the music and the sound of someone moaning.
The Mistress slapped his ass more forcefully, and a pleasant heat grew, like the mildest of sunburns.
And then she stepped closer and leaned against him, full-body, her breasts providing increased pressure on his upper back. Sweet. He could feel her warmth all up and down with a tight burn where she pressed against his stinging butt.
And then she reached around and grasped his cock.
Startled, he jerked, and his hands almost slipped off the pegs. He recovered quickly.
Her fingers gave him a painful, admonishing squeeze. “Don’t move, Benjamin.”
“No, Mistress.” He heard the growl in his voice.
She laughed. Squeezed again. “You move, and I’ll hold your balls instead of your cock next time.”
Fuck. Those strong little fingers of hers could do some serious damage.
But right now, she was stroking him, up and down, soft and sweet, and he hadn’t thought it possible, but his dick lengthened even more. If she didn’t let him finish, he’d have to jerk himself off in the bathroom before he could return to work.