Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sutton
Minutes pass in silence, the only sound the rhythmic whooshing of each intake and exhale of my breath.
I chew on my cheek as I wait, pulse racing, for whatever is going to happen next.
I can’t sense Dominus, no matter how hard I strain to listen for his footsteps.
I think maybe he’s taken off his shoes, or maybe he left the room.
My heart pounds as I consider that option. If I’ve been left alone in here, how long will he leave me?
Will someone else come in while he’s gone? Is this his room only, or does he share it with other Dominants? Good grief, I didn’t even consider that when I arrived tonight, just came in here like a good little dog and stripped down to nothing.
Anyone could have walked in!
My breath catches in my throat—
“Color, Sutton.”
I exhale, shoulders relaxing at the sound of his now-familiar robotic rumble.
I breathe deeply, trying to steady myself, then finally answer, “Green, Sir.”
“Were you yellow a moment ago?”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth to keep quiet. Is this a test? How well can the little submissive follow simple instructions?
“I asked you a question and expect an answer.”
I take another deep breath. “Yes, Sir, I think so.”
“Why?”
“I-I thought you left me.”
He hums, then I hear the scrape of his jeans as he approaches me. His hands settle onto my shoulders and I jump at the sudden contact, then relax into his touch. “I promise not to leave you.” Dominus squeezes my shoulders, then adds, “Only a fool would walk away from you.”
I suck in a breath.
His hands fall away.
The sound of his jeans rubbing together with each step resumes and I follow his retreat to the corner of the room.
A drawer opens.
Closes.
Something clicks, loud in the heavy silence.
A lock?
Handcuffs?
My pulse speeds. I know I marked restraints as a five, but now I’m not so sure. With the blindfold in place, would that be too much? Not being able to see or use my hands? Handcuffs would mean I’d lose the ability to remove the mask if I get scared—
A brush of something tickles my upper arm and I startle, then shiver from the sensation. It happens again, and I try to focus on the way it feels, what it might be.
The brush of softness moves to the right arm, starting at the shoulder, then moving slowly down to my hand hanging at my side. Soft, delicate… Maybe a feather?
To my left, something crackles and my muscles tense. My body goes stiff as it happens again. The sensation tickling up and down my arm fades away because all I can focus on is that crackling sound. I know it, but—
It happens again and I gasp.
Electricity.
My eyes go wide beneath the mask but I’m still blind.
I swallow hard, struggling to remember if there was a question about electro shock or something similar on the checklist. Shit. I can’t remember.
“Color.”
“Yellow,” I answer in a rush.
“Color,” he snaps.
I groan. “Red, Sir.”
“Correct. You indicated that electricity was a zero on your checklist. Don’t lie to me again.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re testing me.”
“Of course I’m testing you. I need to be confident that you will trust your body and that you will be honest about your limits, just as you need to trust that I know your body and will respect said limits.
” I hear the sounds of him retreating, then a drawer opens and closes again. “You’ve earned yourself a spanking.”
“For what, Sir?” I grumble.
“For lying.” He hums then says, “Perhaps that will be two spankings,” only this time, he’s right behind me again.
I shiver at his closeness, at the threat of his hands on me, punishing.
Pleasuring.
I close my eyes and wait for the smack of his palm.
“I think I missed out on something special this evening,” he says, his voice a low, robotic growl. “I should have been here to unwrap you. Starting with your skirt, I would have slowly unzipped it. Then I would have slid my hands inside, touching your skin as I eased it down your legs.”
Yes, please.
“I bet you undressed in a hurry, eager to please me, but I would have moved slowly, taking my time to explore the curve of each leg, the soft, delicate space behind each knee.”
I whimper as I imagine his hands on me, feeling every brush of his palm as if he was actually doing each thing now, touching me the way he describes… the way I crave.
“I’d taste you, dragging my tongue up the length of first one leg, then down the other.”
My breath is shaky as I drag it in.
He stalks a slow circle around me, and the longer I remain blindfolded, the easier it is to follow the motion of his steps, the brush of denim on denim between his legs, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The brush of something soft teases at the back of my knee and I shiver.
“If I worked my way up these perfect legs, what would I find, hm?” Whatever he has in his hand tickles its way up the inside of my left leg.
I lick my lips, pressing them together to keep from speaking. If this is truly a test, I won’t fail again.
“Look at that sweet cunt,” he says, brushing the feathers or whatever they are against my inner thigh. “Beautiful. You’re already weeping for me.”
My thighs tense as my pussy throbs. Knowing he’s staring at such an intimate place should make me uncomfortable, but all it does is heat the blood in my veins.
I feel greedy and ready to demand that he touch me.
Another shiver shakes my shoulders as it travels the length of my spine.
“If I brushed my tongue over your clit, what would I find? Would you be sweet for me? Like honey? Salty? Perhaps both.”
I swallow hard, pressing my thighs together as that pulse again builds between them.
I’m floored by the way this man can unravel me without even touching me. How his words, that rumble of his voice modulator can send rivers of heat to pool between my legs. How just his solid, warm presence is enough to twist my groin into delicious knots.
“I would have stripped you out of your shirt next, pulled your arms up over your head.” He punctuates this statement by circling both wrists, then lifting them above my head.
I suck in a breath as my body sings from his closeness.
Finally!
He grips both wrists in one big hand, holding me still as he allows the silence to linger.
Each beat of my heart marks time passing, time without his hands and mouth on me.
I hold my breath, waiting for Dominus to take me however he wants, yearning for him to make good on his word and show me what free use could be like.
My breasts are heavy, and as he moves closer, they brush against his chest and my body shakes with a wave of arousal.
“Dominus,” I whine.
His hand flexes around my wrists.
“Color, sweet girl.”
“Green.”
He hums and the sound creeps down between my legs to stoke that fire.
My nipples ache with how tight they are.
What would it feel like to have his hands on them, kneading, squeezing, twisting my nipples.
I open my mouth, a plea at the tip of my tongue…
Dominus chuckles and I realize I’m leaning toward him, my whole body swaying forward. He releases my arms, allowing my hands to flop back down to my sides, and I nearly stumble from the loss of his support.
And then I wait.
And he does nothing.
I strain to hear any sounds that would prepare me for what comes next, but nothing happens.
My pulse pounds a steady, urgent rhythm against my ribs. My blood is a thunderous rush in my ears.
Sweat trickles down my neck from my hairline.
Is it getting hotter in here or am I about to have a panic attack again?
Is this a new thing I can expect in my late thirties? Panic attacks when I get worked up?
Good grief, no thank you.
Smack!
The abrupt sound of something connecting with my flesh shocks me almost as much as the sudden bite against the meatiest part of my left calf. Pain registers a beat later, blooming out from the point of connection. “Wha-what—”
Another smack! This time, my right calf.
I press my lips together, careful not to vocalize the burning question on my tongue.
What the hell was that?
“Color.”
“Green, Sir?’
“Color,” he demands, more firmly this time.
I pull in a deep breath from my nose, assessing the way I feel. My pulse speeds and my breathing is quick, shallow, but not teetering into panic attack yet. I’m more excited than anything, adrenaline coursing through my veins like currents through a livewire.
I’m… exhilarated.
My calves sting, but not like the burn of an open wound, and the pain is surface level, not deep enough to indicate any actual damage.
I stand up taller and lift my chin. “Green, Sir.”
He grunts his approval, then cups my chin and tilts my head upward. “Good girl.”
I shiver from the satisfied tone of his voice, obvious even with the rumble of that voice modulator.
“Your body is something else.”
My cheeks heat as I imagine what he sees.
The hip dips I spent most of my formative years hating.
The roundness of my lower stomach I’ve never been able to get rid of, no matter how many times I yo-yo dieted or how thin I became in my early twenties when I succumbed to the negative body image battle raging inside my head.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, startling me with his sudden closeness.
He’s directly behind me, not touching me at all, but now that I know he’s there I realize I should have known the moment he moved closer.
My body is abuzz with the anticipation of that large body pressing up against mine.
“Answer me,” he purrs.
“Yes, Dominus.”
It’s taken me a long time to accept this figure, but I’m not going to bore him with the details of what that yes means to me, or what it took to get me to this point.
He circles me slowly, and I strain to locate him by hearing alone. I think he’s in front of me—
“I’d like to touch you now.”
I startle, then roll my lips to keep from giggling because yes, please.
“Is something funny?”
I give my head the subtlest of shakes. “Green, Sir.”
“Cute.” He trails something firm over my cheek, from my temple down to my lips, and I pick up the distinct scent of leather. “Then why are your lips twitching on a smile?”
I remain quiet.
“Such a defiant subbie today.” He trails the object downward, tracing the line of my collarbones from one shoulder to the other. “Answer me.”
“I’m not sure what the question is. I was just trying not to giggle.”
“About…?”
I swallow hard. “How very much I want you to touch me. Sir.”
“Hm.”
Silence is all that follows that thoughtful sound, and I lick my lips, anticipating his next move. Will he give me what I want? Make me wait for it? Smack me again with whatever toy he has in his hand?
“Open your legs.”
I step outward, positioning my feet shoulders’ width apart.
“This might hurt.”
Oh shit. I brace myself, squeezing my eyes shut behind the blindfold.
Smack!
“Fuck,” I whine, unable to keep quiet because the pain radiating from the soft flesh of my inner right thigh is far worse than any of the slaps before.
“Color.”
I grimace. “Green?”
“Color,” he barks.
I suck in a breath through my teeth. “Green, Sir. Like, greenish-yellow.”
“Fair enough.” The sound of his thighs brushing against each other, that roughness of denim against denim, tells me he’s walking away from me. Another drawer opens and I strain to hear what he’s doing inside.
It closes.
“I’m going to explore your body.”
I shiver with anticipation.
“I’m going to touch every inch of that smooth skin. I’m going to taste every inch of you, from that soft place beneath your ear to the arch of your foot. I’m going to kiss you and mark you up because you’re mine.”
Oh my god.
I’m trembling from the sheer force of the desire burning within me. This man is going to explore my body, see and touch parts of me that haven’t been acknowledged by a man in so long I’m embarrassed to even try to think about the last time I had sex.
Oh. I bite back a groan at the unwanted intruder in my thoughts. It was Stephen.
Ugh.
Pushing that man away from this moment, I chew on my cheek, trying to distract myself from the ache between my legs, the heaviness of my groin, my pussy.
“But this means I will be removing my mask.”
I startle at the closeness of his voice. He’s directly behind me again, and I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear his approach.
My heartbeat trips over itself.
Did he just say he’s removing his mask?
Oh my god.
“You cannot remove yours.”
My shoulders deflate, but I understand that this is our dynamic. This is the man I sought out, after all. I could have come in here in search of any Dominant, but it was this one I wanted. My masked man.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dominus.”
“Is there any part of your body I cannot mark?”
I nearly say no, have at it, but then my good sense kicks in and I remember I’m a whole person outside of this club, not just a mess of sex and desire. “I can’t have marks on my neck or chest. Hands, feet… anywhere people might see.” Pausing, I add, “I work in a professional industry.”
“Understood. Anywhere in particular you’d like me to focus on?”
Yes. Everywhere.
“Words, please.”
“Everywhere.”
He chuckles, the sound low in his throat.
There’s a metallic clicking sound and I immediately recognize that it’s a zipper.
He’s unzipping his mask.
My heart stutters in my chest.
A second later, his lips are on my skin and I have to bite back a moan.
He leaves open-mouthed kisses across my shoulders, moving my hair over one shoulder to drape down my chest. As his mouth continues to lick and kiss my shoulders and upper back, my neck, his hands make their way to my front, and the moment he cups my breasts, gently, as if testing the weight of them, I moan loudly.
It’s a needy, relief-filled moan, and though a small part of me is embarrassed by the sound, as soon as his hands flex on my breasts and his thumbs and forefingers close around my nipples, I can’t find it in me to care.