53. Expertise #2
I run my fingers once through his hair before fitting the gag, waiting for his nod before securing it. When I straighten, he settles his hands exactly where I left them.
That is considerably more effective than tying him down would have been.
His restraint is the fact that he has agreed to obey.
I return to Micah and Cami.
By the time her weight leaves the floor completely, we've checked every load point more than once and moved more slowly than any of the impatient people in the room would probably prefer.
Cami hangs vertically in front of us, compact and controlled, her arms and legs incorporated far enough into the structure that she cannot meaningfully reposition herself.
Her pelvis remains accessible because that was part of the design, but otherwise there is almost nothing she can change about the way her body is presented to us.
Micah and I both step back.
For several seconds, neither of us says anything.
The rope does not hide Cami's body. If anything, it makes it more impossible to ignore. It compresses soft skin in some places and frames it in others, creating lines that draw the eye toward curves she has no ability to shift or conceal.
She realizes that at almost the same moment I do.
The change in her expression is small, but I've learned to look for small changes.
Micah sees it too.
He picks up the camera we've already agreed can be used for private, in-house photographs and takes two before lowering it again.
“Princess.”
Cami looks at him.
His expression has gone almost reverent.
“Fuck. You're art.”
Her lips part.
From the chair, Dex makes a muffled sound that needs no translation.
Griffin moves closer and brushes his knuckles along her cheek. “You're beautiful.”
Simple. Griffin rarely needs more words than that when he means something.
I wait until her attention returns to me.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Any numbness or tingling?”
“No.”
“Anything electric or sharp?”
“No.”
“Hands and feet?”
“Good.”
“Breathing?”
She takes a deliberate breath, apparently humoring me, but answers seriously. “Good.”
Only after all of that do I pick up the blindfold.
“You still want this?”
“Yes.”
I cover her eyes.
The change is immediate.
Her next breath catches halfway in, and the way she holds herself changes even though the rope allows almost no actual movement. Without sight, she begins listening harder, orienting herself by sound instead of trying to track all four of us.
Griffin moves toward her without needing to be asked.
His hand settles at her waist before moving to her face, and he kisses her softly enough that she turns toward him as far as the restraint allows.
Cami does not need him there to tolerate the suspension.
I am increasingly convinced Griffin needs to be there anyway.
There was a time I might have interpreted that as interference. Now I understand it differently. Griffin anchors by instinct. It is how he loves people. He does it with Cami most obviously, but I've watched him do versions of it with the rest of us for years.
I want him to have that piece.
“Griffin.”
He looks at me.
“You can anchor her between her thighs. Keep her from rotating. Don't chase anything and try not to let her chase anything.”
His expression changes, but he nods.
We talked about this—all of this—long before we walked down those stairs.
I don’t usually worry about planning taking away from heat, but it may very well do that today. We’ve all decided that will be okay for this experience.
Griffin’s hand moves between her legs, creating a point of contact that is sexual enough to make Cami inhale sharply without giving her anything deliberate to pursue. More importantly, the pressure gives her another fixed reference point and will keep the lands of the flogger from turning her body.
Dex shifts in the chair but keeps his hands exactly where they belong.
I pick up the flogger.
The first contact is deliberately light, more sensation than impact. Cami's skin tightens in response.
I increase the weight gradually, watching her breathing more than the marks beginning to bloom across the areas we've chosen.
After several passes, Griffin asks, “You really like this?”
Cami answers without hesitation. “Yes.”
I continue.
Another impact draws a low sound from her.
“You'll tell us if you don't?” he asks.
Her head turns toward his voice. “I promise I'll safeword.”
Griffin studies her face for another second.
Then he accepts the answer.
No additional questions. No request that I change what I'm doing. He simply trusts the consent she gave him and keeps his hand where I told him to keep it.
That lands harder than I expect.
The first time Griffin saw marks I'd left on Cami, I understood why he needed to process them. He trusted her, but trusting her desire and trusting me with the consequences of that desire were not exactly the same thing.
Somewhere along the way, they became close enough that he no longer needs to supervise the difference.
I don't know exactly when that happened.
I am glad it did.
Once Cami's skin has warmed and her reactions tell me the impact is landing the way I want it to, I hold the flogger out to Micah.
He looks at it, then at me.
I nod.
He takes it.
I expect him to begin where I stopped.
He doesn't.
He backs the intensity down and finds his own rhythm first.
Three strikes later, the pattern becomes consistent enough that I can stop tracking his mechanics and focus completely on Cami.
Micah owns this part now.
I move close to her head.
“Color?”
There is a pause before she answers.
“Green.”
Not uncertain.
Simply slower.
She's dropping.
“Good.” I lean near enough that my breath reaches her ear. “That's it, sweetheart. You don't have to hold yourself anywhere. We already have you.”
Micah's next impact lands harder, and her mouth opens on a soft sound.
“So fucking beautiful,” I tell her. “Look how much you're giving us.”
Her shoulders lose another fraction of tension.
“That's my girl.”
Griffin's fingers move lightly between her thighs—not enough to deliberately stimulate her, but enough that her body knows exactly where he is.
She says my name.
I smile.
Because I know where she is mentally.
I've done this with her before.
Many times now.
None of the other men in the room have seen it.
Griffin has watched me control her. Micah understands our dynamic well enough that very little about it surprises him anymore. Dex has spent months volunteering opinions about what he assumes I can do to her.
But this particular thing has belonged to Cami and me.
The first time I talked her into an orgasm without touching her, she was restrained in this same basement, just with her feet on the floor. I learned then how completely her body can follow my voice once she stops trying to anticipate what happens next.
Over the next few months I’ve learned more. Perfected more. Watched her visually respond to me in very ordinary moments of our lives with just a few words.
Tonight I am not discovering whether I can do it.
I am letting them see what she gives me when she lets go.
That feels considerably more intimate than I expected.
“Listen to me.”
Her face turns toward my voice.
“Good girl.”
Micah keeps the rhythm steady.
I watch the delay lengthen between sensation and response. Her mouth has gone soft, her breathing slower until each impact interrupts it, and when I speak she seems to reorganize around the sound.
“So submissive for us.”
Her thighs tighten around Griffin's hand.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
“You want to be good for us, don't you?”
“Yes.”
Micah's next strike draws a broken breath from her.
I know the pattern.
I've seen it before.
“You're getting close.”
Her brow tightens beneath the blindfold. “I—”
“Don't chase it.”
She goes quiet.
“You already know how to do this. You don't need to make anything happen.”
Micah maintains the rhythm.
“Just listen to me and let your body answer.”
Her breathing grows uneven.
“Let Micah give you the sensation. Let Griffin keep you steady. You don't have to control any of it.”
She whimpers.
“Do you feel the warmth?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”
The falls of the flogger land again—harder this time.
I nod at Micah in approval.
Griffin swallows, but the next one lands slightly harder.
“Do you feel that at your core, sweetheart?”
Her voice is barely audible. “Yes.”
“I know you want to be a good girl? You want them to see?”
Her thighs clench visibly.
“Yes,” she breathes out the word.
I lean in closer, breath brushing her skin, and lower my voice another fraction.
“Show me.”
Her body tries to arch.