Chapter 29
Tuesday held his gaze. “I’ll have a full day of work the next day, so I’ll need at least six hours of sleep. Good sleep.”
He smirked. “Of course.”
“My hotel is a half-block from the restaurant, and there’s an excellent little German restaurant close. I can pick up some rinderrouladen for us to eat in the room, if that works for you?”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Oh, it’s German comfort food. Thinly sliced beef — and it’s so good, I’m pretty sure this place uses sirloin, but I figure you’ll know for sure. Anyway, it’s rolled around a filling of bacon, onions, mustard, and pickles, and cooked in gravy. It comes with mashed potatoes and red cabbage.”
“I’m getting quite the food education with you, and I’m not complaining even a tiny bit. You seem to know my tastes, so I’ll take your word for it. I’ll plan to leave around two tomorrow. Put the order in and text me the address, and I’ll pick it up.”
Would it take that long to get here on backroads? Did he never take the interstate? “You’re going to drive four hours to come see me?”
He shook his head. “Two and a half if traffic cooperates, but I’ll drive to an Atlanta brother’s place to leave my bike where it’ll be safe. He’ll give me a ride to you, and I can get the food and meet you at your hotel.”
She wanted to say something to acknowledge how big this was, for him to drive so far for a night with her, but that was too much, and it would make things awkward.
She wasn’t going to make whatever-the-fuck this was into something it wasn’t ready to be yet, but it felt wrong to not acknowledge him willing to go out of his way to see her. Far out of his way.
But she only said, “Okay. I’ll text you the restaurant and address, along with the hotel and my room number tonight, and tomorrow I’ll let you know when I’ve placed the order. I’ll tell them you’ll pick it up at six. What name should I give them?”
“Harlan works. Businesses get nervous if someone named Knife is expected.”
- - - ? - - -
Knife watched her expression and decided she was ready for a little playtime. Giving commands long-distance was always a trick, figuring out when to start. How to start. How far to push.
“I assume your kitchenette has a spatula? A basic pancake flipper?”
She furrowed her brows at him but said, “Yes.”
“Go get it and then get back on the bed. You’re going to want to take your pants and panties off, too.”
He saw the change in her expression, moving from casual-conversation to submissive-and-feeling-it.
Mostly, their in-person scenes hadn’t involved a lot of obedience. She had to follow orders while he tied her up, and the last scene had been a challenge in ‘be quiet or else’. She’d more than proven her submission, but phone scenes relied on indisputable submission.
He breathed out in relief when she walked to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled a black plastic spatula out.
She walked back to the bed and put what he’d figured out was a tablet and not a phone on the bed, so he was looking at the headboard and wedge she’d been leaned against earlier.
He heard what sounded like sweatpants or perhaps pajama pants being shed, and then she flipped the wedge around so she’d be reclined instead of sitting up.
Finally, she came back into view, and she adjusted the tablet so he had a better view of her face.
He wanted to ask what she had her tablet on, because she clearly had a ton of options in how to aim it, but he didn’t want to interrupt the sexual energy.
“Good girl.”
She left her shirt on, and he knew without her having to tell him that she wasn’t going to play naked games on video, which was fine with him. He didn’t do that either.
“Here’s what you’re going to do with that,” he said, and he walked her through settling it on her clit, the flat bottom directly on it.
“Now lift the end of it while holding the handle in place. Stretch the plastic up, and up, and up.”
He gave her a few seconds before he said, “Now let it go.”
Her face told him everything he needed to know. The catch of her breath, the way her eyes squinted closed.
He kept his voice low and steady. “Oh, good girl. Now do it again.”
She did, and he said, “What will make it hurt worse? Can you change the angle? Lift it more?” He lowered his voice and practically growled, “Figure it out and do it.”
He watched her face. Saw her considering it. Seconds later he heard the impact and saw complete and total pain on her face.
His dick pulsed at her agony, and he ordered, “Oh, excellent. Do it again, ten times, rapidfire. Count it down for me.”
She started with ten and counted down. By the time she made it to four, her voice was breaking. The last one was uttered with more breath than voice.
“Now just close your eyes and let it throb a few minutes. Not a break, but a chance for it to swell, so it’ll hurt more when you do it again. Do you think you can come from ten? Or should you do twenty next time?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
The Sir went straight to his cock, but he didn’t take his jeans off and fist it.
He’d had dozens of orgasms inside of various sweetbutts over the weekend, and tonight it felt better to just get hard and think about when he’d have her in the flesh.
He glanced at the clock and did the math.
Only fifteen hours until they’d be eating together, and a few more until he put her into predicament bondage.
He already had the perfect hotel-room pose in mind.
Since she didn’t know if she could come yet, he made her go through the ten-at-a-time routine three more times, and then he told her, “Seventy-five this time.”
He let that sink in before adding, “Unless you can orgasm, in which case, I’ll tell you when you can stop but — and this is important — you do not stop until I give you permission to. You can orgasm at any time past the first twelve, but you have to keep going even while you come.”
She nodded, and he told her, “Begin.”
When she finally came apart on the screen, her eyes and mouth wide open, then her eyes closed, her head tilted back so he lost the view, but that was okay.
He could hear the spatula striking over and over, and could see enough of her to know it was a true orgasm with wave after wave of bliss and pain.
When the orgasm started to wane, he counted down for her, “Harder for these final ones. Seven. Six. Five…”
When he got to one, she gave a sob in the midst of gasping for air, and he couldn’t help his smile.
Fuck, but she was a treasure. Fully into it, even three hours away.
“Good girl. Three deep breaths, and then look at me.”
Three breaths later, and she rolled to the side to look into the camera with the soft, submissive, exhausted expression he usually only saw in person — and the ache behind his sternum pulsed at him.
The one he’d first felt the morning she’d walked into his butcher shop in four-inch heels and known how to read a tenderloin on the rail, and had never fully gone away since.
“I can’t wait until tomorrow night,” he told her. “Consider this a prelude. You good?”
“Excellent. How about you?”
“Not your job to worry about me. Text me the restaurant and hotel info before you drop off to sleep.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for the reminder.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
“You too. Have a safe trip down.”
Neither of them moved to end the call for a long moment, but then she reached forward, and the screen went dark.
He sat in his quiet living room, his dick hard, and reached for his beer, which’d gone a little warm but was still fine.
Fuck if he hadn’t stopped for a stash of Wanderlinger on the way home, just to remind him of their date the prior Monday.
He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he needed to figure something out.
It wasn’t happening tonight though, so he headed upstairs to figure out what to pack. Cuffs and straps instead of rope, to keep it simple. He didn’t want to hurt her badly enough she’d have to change, but her nipples were going to catch hell. Asshole, too.
She hadn’t experienced a night focusing on that particular bundle of nerves yet, and it was time she did.
- - - ? - - -
Nineteen hours later, Knife leaned back in the little kitchenette chair, fork resting on the empty plate, savoring the last rich notes of gravy, bacon, and perfectly braised beef.
He’d rarely loved a completely new dish this much, but Tuesday had nailed it — tender rolls of sirloin stuffed with the right balance of smoky, tangy, and savory.
She’d known his tastes enough to order food he’d like, and it touched him more than it probably should’ve.
He’d asked her what rinderrouladen translated into, and she’d smiled. “Beef rolls. Literally. I love that you asked.”
But now it was time for the after-dinner festivities. She’d eaten light and put the rest into the fridge, and he approved. She knew there wouldn’t be a lot of time for her food to settle.
He stood and went to his duffel, pulled a single glycerin suppository out, turned, and showed it to her.
“Have you used these before?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
“Then go use it. Make sure everything’s out, and then return to me naked. I’ll deal with cleanup out here.”
She stared at it for several long seconds. Fear flickered across her scent, chased immediately by a sharp spike of arousal.
And then she stood, walked to him, accepted it when he handed it to her, and walked to the bathroom without a word.
The moment the door clicked shut, he rose and went to work.
He cleared the table, washed their plates and silverware, settled them in the drainer, wiped the table down, and threw all the detritus away.
He moved one of the sturdy kitchenette chairs into the open area of floor space, and laid out his tools on a nearby table: leather cuffs, heavy-duty zip-ties in a variety of lengths, an exceptionally cruel set of needle-toothed nipple clamps, a wide leather strap, and a terrifying row of torture devices he decided to drape paper towels over.
Didn’t want to let her know exactly what she was in for right at the start.