Chapter 9
The egg pulsed with every shift of her hips, the plug held her open, and the upstairs felt a lot closer than the second floor of a house ought to.
Conversation slowed as plates emptied, the scrape of forks giving way to the quieter clink of glasses. Willow topped off everyone’s tea without being told, aware of three sets of eyes tracking her movements.
They didn’t make a production out of cleanup. Boone carted dishes to the sink, Silas loaded them into the dishwasher, Kenny packaged leftovers and slid them into the fridge. Willow moved between them, wiping the table and other surfaces. In less than five minutes, the kitchen was spotless.
Kenny dried his hands on a dish towel, his gaze on her. “Upstairs, playtoy.”
Her heels thumped against the hardwood stairs, the three of them behind her. Ten steps from the top, she stopped at the low table set against the wall. Her fingers lingered on the fabric of her dress for a moment before she pulled it over her head, folded it, and set it neatly on the table.
They said nothing, only watched.
Bare now except for the heels, she walked the last few steps to the first door on the right, a prickle of awareness running up her spine under the weight of their gazes. Kenny opened it and said, “Permission to enter.”
She stepped in, and he issued the next rule without hesitation. “You will never enter without permission. You are never to touch the door handle, from the inside or outside. Acknowledge the rule.”
“I’m not allowed in the playroom until invited. I’m not to touch the door handle from either side, Sir.”
She had to focus on breathing. Crossing the threshold felt less like walking into a room and more like surrendering a piece of herself.
A piece she very much wanted to surrender, but it was still a heavy moment.
The playroom wasn’t what she’d expected — not polished, not finished, but functional in a way that made her skin prickle.
A St. Andrew’s cross stood beside a heavy bondage table topped with a loose cushion.
A winch hung from a reinforced beam in the ceiling.
Recessed floor connectors were in a circle under the winch.
Hooks on the far wall held whips, floggers, and paddles. A row of mismatched shelves and drawers held clamps, cuffs, and other gear in labeled bins.
Boone’s mouth curved as he saw her looking. “Had to pull it together quick. Give us time and it’ll be a custom build pretty enough for a magazine.”
Silas leaned against the door frame, watching her take it all in. “For tonight, it’ll do just fine.”
Kenny stepped close enough she could feel the heat off him. “Shoes off and go to the gymnastics mat, little hawk. You said you’ve done some basic yoga. Start with the sun salute, and we’ll go from there. We’d like to see how limber you are before we start posing you.”
They seemed pleased she could hold tree pose nearly indefinitely, and Silas noted it could come in handy.
She wanted to ask how, but they were tossing out orders left and right, so she didn’t.
Kenny tried putting her into a single sleeve and noted she’d been correct — her shoulders weren’t nearly flexible enough to give the visual he wanted.
She couldn’t do the splits in any direction, but she had enough flexibility to go into most of what they’d want to put her in, so she thought it would be okay.
But then he said, “You’ll be expected to comfortably go into one of the three splits by the start of the Memorial Day Weekend, if you’re still ours by then. Your choice of which to stretch into first. Is there a reason you may not be able to accomplish this?”
“Not that I’m aware of, Sir. If I see that I’m not going to make it, can we have that talk in three months?”
“We’ll talk in six weeks, and that’s on you to put on your calendar and bring to me.”
She made a mental note to add it to her calendar. “Yes, Sir.”
He’d been leaned against the bondage table, and he took a few steps forward, planted his feet, crossed his arms, his gaze steady on her. “You’ll learn seven poses tonight. We’ll drill until you can drop into them when ordered, without thinking.”
Her pulse jumped. Seven?
He crooked two fingers. “Front and center, little hawk.”
She stepped into the space, the only person naked in the room, hands loose at her sides.
“First,” he said, “Unless I state otherwise, an order to go into spread eagle means you’re on a horizontal surface, legs and arms spread wide. Palms open, chin up. If I don’t specify a bed or table, it means the floor or ground.”
She went to the playroom floor and made herself a giant X.
He nodded. “Excellent. If you know what I’m paying attention to, you can arch your back to show it off.
Arching it more shows off your tits, less will let us see your pussy.
There’s an alternate to this pose — spread eagle tilt.
Bend your knees so your feet are flat on the floor and then push with your legs, tilting your pelvis up, so we can see your cunt. ”
She followed instructions, and he nodded.
“The second position is spread-kneel.”
Silas spoke from the wall. “If you know the Gor positions, they call it nadu.”
That’s the main Gorean pose, so she went into it straight away, kneeling with her butt on her feet, her knees spread as wide as she could manage, her tits out, and her hands palm-up on her thighs.
“Excellent. Next is the seated kneel, which just means you pull your legs together, and then kneel-up, which is…”
He nodded when she straightened her hips and went into the kneel-up position. “Yes, that’s it. If I don’t specify where your hands go, hold your elbows behind your back for the seated kneel, clasped behind your head for the kneel-up.”
He walked a circle around her and said, “All fours.”
She leaned forward and went to all-fours or doggie or whatever he wanted to call it, heart thudding with anticipation. The position felt exposed, primal, her ass bare and open, but she held it.
“Legs farther apart,” Boone ordered.
She obeyed, and Kenny stepped behind her, leaned down, and stuck a finger into her pussy alongside the egg already nestled deep inside. The intrusion made her breath catch because the pressure against the egg sent sparks ricocheting through her core.
Then came a second finger, pressing deeper.
The added friction and stretch had her hips twitching, her body trying to pull away even as it clenched around the fullness.
He pumped her, his fingers nudging the egg with each stroke, sending fluttering heat through her until she was spiraling toward the edge, breath shallow, thighs trembling, her orgasm looming fast and loud—
And he stepped back.
She whimpered, the denial cutting deeper than it should’ve. Her body throbbed with need, and she fought the urge to beg him to keep going.
“That’s a proper all-fours,” Silas said.
“With your back arched, your holes aimed up, begging to be used. Remember how this feels when we order you into this position — your spine curved down so your owners can see your swollen, needy cunt along with the outside of the plug holding your asshole wide open.”
“Next is knees and chest.” Kenny said, his voice a firm order.
Her body obeyed even as her thoughts spun. This was more than postures and practicality. This was surrender, shape by shape. One position at a time, they were taking ownership of her body.
She instinctively folded her arms under her face, but Kenny said, “Arms straight, trailing along your body so your hands are near your knees.”
She did, and Silas said, “Arch your back more, bring your tits closer to your knees.”
It wasn’t comfortable, but this wasn’t about comfort, so she stayed quiet. She made fists with her hands to comfort herself.
“Fists are a problem for me,” Boone said. “Hands straight.”
“Boone sees someone making a fist as a threat,” Kenny explained. “When we begin with individual rules, Boone will punish you for making fists while he hurts you or fucks you, but we aren’t there yet. For now, relax your hands and settle into the pose.”
She blew out a breath and relaxed her hands.
“Excellent,” Kenny said. “Back to all fours.”
She moved her hands back under her, pushed back up, and he said, “Knees and chest.”
She moved her hands straight into position this time, her cheek back on the hardwood.
“Better. Child’s pose.”
She swept her arms out and up, sat her butt down on her feet, and relaxed into the yoga pose. It was the first position that felt like a reprieve, though with him standing over her, she doubted it would stay that way.
“This is correct for yoga. My preference is for the wrists to be crossed over your head.”
She did so, and he made a noise of approval. “That’s lovely. Now show me the most graceful way you know to stand from this position.”
She quickly considered her options, moved her feet to plant her toes under her, pushed her butt into the air with her hands braced on the floor near her feet, and then stood with an extra head motion to fan her hair up and back, to keep it out of her face.
He nodded. “That works. Next up is inspection pose, which has a couple of levels. Start with your feet as wide as you can stand without a risk of losing your balance, and clasp your hands to the back of your head.”
She took a second to figure out how wide of a stance she trusted, and then pushed her boobs out and clasped her hands behind her head.
“Excellent.” He walked around her once and then, while standing behind her, said, “Focus on a spot on the wall in front of you, and then bend at the waist while continuing to look at the same place. Arch your back, keep your hands at the back of your head. The goal is for your hips to be at a ninety-degree angle. Legs vertical, torso horizontal.”
She bent, and then gasped when he crammed two fingers into her pussy without warning, the sudden invasion making her jerk and fight to maintain her position.