17. The hamster was right
THE HAMSTER WAS RIGHT
Hanging my clothes in Rafael’s closet made it almost real. He’d told me to take as much space as I wanted, but I kept my stuff compact. Anxiety insisted he didn’t mean it; that I didn’t really live here. I was just a guest. Just passing through.
Like my failed attempt to live with David.
He’d banned me from moving any of his shit to make space for mine.
I had to squeeze in around the margins of his life.
He’d once thrown a screaming fit because I accidentally knocked over a stack of old comics trying to find a spot for my books, and I’d unknowingly put them back out of order.
I wasn’t allowed to complain about his reaction because of his autism.
Even though I was also autistic and being screamed at triggered full-blown meltdowns.
Luckily, Deandra had insisted I keep all my furniture at our house, proclaiming I’d need it. I’d scrimped and saved to get decent quality pieces that would last, and I couldn’t afford to re-buy everything. I came slinking back with my tail between my legs not six months later.
This time, she hadn’t said a peep—especially not after learning what drove me to the decision.
Rafael had no problem rearranging the furniture. He insisted on replacing the bedframe in the guest room with mine. After some measuring, we fit my chest of drawers in the closet without blocking the entry to the dungeon.
He hauled my big bookshelf into my new office. It wouldn’t fit in the curved turret, and besides; the room at the top was meant for lounging. Most touchingly, Deandra’s portrait of me hung front and center in his gallery.
“Why do you look sad, Windup Girl?”
I jumped. “Dammit, where’s your bell? Weren’t you supposed to clap?”
Rafael laughed.
“Feeling sorry for myself, I guess. It’s really generous of you to let me put all my stuff in here and move yours around.”
He cupped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye.
“Remember when I said canimin ici means ‘inside of my life’? Inside, Elaine. Not floating on top, or shoved in an unused corner, or dragged along behind me. You say the word, and I’ll burn everything I own.
” He smiled at the trembling of my lower lip.
“Ah, maybe not my instruments, but everything else. I might pout about the art, but I would do it for you.”
I threw my arms around him and inhaled the dragon’s blood scent of his hair oil. “Stop being so nice to me. I don’t know how to handle it.”
“This might be the first time anyone has said I am too nice.”
“Well, you keep doing these grand gestures, and I don’t have any way to really reciprocate.” It was the first time I’d voiced that concern.
“Canim, you make me feel calm and safe enough to sleep better than I ever have in my life. You make me happy. That is not a word I use lightly.” Rafael kneeled to better look me in the eye.
“You are also incredibly fucking sexy when you put your mind to it. If you are feeling beholden, you can repay me in beatings.”
I laid a cautious hand on his chest. “Your bruises have barely healed from the last time!”
Rafael’s eyes glittered. “I like feeling them as I move around in my daily life.”
“You pervert.”
“I am, as I have said, a pain slut.” He opened the secret door to the dungeon with a questioning brow raise.
“Ok, pain slut. Let’s go.” I took his hand and led him inside. “What do you have in mind?”
My little collection of monster dildos rested on the shelf next to the lube and clamps. The pastels and shimmering colors stood out next to the black and red aesthetic of everything else. l blushed. When had he put those there?
“How good is your aim with a bullwhip?” he purred in my ear.
“Holy—no, not good enough to be sure I wouldn’t put your eye out.” I poked through the assortment of harnesses until I came upon a sturdy black waspie corset. “Is this yours?”
“Who else would it belong to?”
“You and that mouth, I swear. Can I see it on you?” I held the corset up. “You already have a slutty little waist.”
“My windup girl, you can do whatever you like. Hand me that corset liner. And what is with these slutty little descriptions? Slutty glasses, slutty waist. What else is slutty and little?”
“Not you, that’s for sure. Giant slut.”
He barked a laugh. Rafael stepped into the stretchy liner and pulled it up around his waist, rolling the band of his pants down to accommodate it. My brain bluescreened at the exposed trail of dark red hair disappearing beneath that waistband.
I blinked to restart my concentration enough to wrap the corset around his middle. “I’ve always loved a man in a corset.”
He settled the waspie over his hips and hooked it closed in the front. It had to be custom with how it molded to his body.
“I used to wear them a lot. It was good for my anxiety. I don’t really know why I stopped.” Weight gain was the reason, but better not to dwell on my insecurity. “The ones I have now are more for like ren fair costumes rather than true waist-training corsets. Are you able to close this one?”
“A good corset would be delicious on you. Pick some out later. And yes, I can close this one. Tightlaced, it is about a four-inch reduction.”
I kissed his back, between his shoulder blades, on the scars. “Flatterer. You’re so solid, I’m surprised you can reduce that much.”
Working from the top down and the bottom up, I pulled the loops from the center to line the edges up parallel.
As expected, even with the corset’s hip spring, Rafael’s body resisted compression.
I threw my weight into the sturdy laces, pulling as hard as I could.
Slowly, the edges came together, and the corset closed.
I kept the tension to tie the knot and tucked the ends.
“Whew, got me working up a sweat, and I haven’t even taken a swing at you yet.” I circled him, admiring my handiwork.
The waspie—more of a vee with a squared-off hip shelf than a true hourglass, since it was designed for his body—accentuated the slenderness of his waist to the extreme, making his upper body look even more imposing.
It cupped his hips like a lover, skimming just above his pubic bone in the front.
My pussy pulsed, fluttering to life. God, what I wouldn’t give to see him naked and hard right now.
As if he heard my thoughts, his cock stirred.
Fueled by the sight, I grabbed the same cuffs as before and hoisted his arms over his head.
I stretched to my tiptoes to whisper, “I’m going to hit you until you’re nice and hard, then I’m going to sit back and touch myself while you come in your pants.”
Rafael groaned, and his cock jumped, tenting the fabric of his pants. “I like this game. Use that big one,” he nodded toward the largest of my dildos on the shelf.
I slapped his face, following through with my body weight. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
His head snapped to the side, chains rattling, and laughed with wild abandon. “Vicious. Who knew you had that in you?”
I slapped the other cheek. He grinned, teeth pinked by the slight trickle of blood where I’d split his lip.
“Shit, I didn’t realize I’d hit you that hard. Are you ok?”
Rafael tongued the cut. “You call that hard, little girl?”
“Why did I only now realize that you’re a fucking brat, too?”
I snatched the first implement within reach off the rack: a brutal-looking wood paddle with air holes and rounded metal studs. It whistled in a lower voice than the cane as it struck Rafael’s shoulders.
He leaned his head back. “Are you trying to tickle me? Use both hands and swing it like a bat.”
So I did and got a mildly satisfying grunt out of him.
I swung again and again. Each time the paddle connected hard enough to sway him in the chains, he hummed with approval.
Welts came up fast, and the divots left by the studs darkened with bruising.
He was right about my needing conditioning; as I worked him over, I tired rapidly.
Rafael showed no signs of reaching his limit. I circled to his front. He tracked my every movement with eyes so intense they were almost otherworldly.
“If I bring your arms down and give you enough slack, can you step through and put your hands behind your back without me having to unlock you?”
He rattled the chains. “Just fucking do it.”
I smacked his corseted belly with the paddle hard enough to elicit another grunt. He did as I asked with surprising agility.
I locked the cuffs together again behind his back and pulled a padded mat out in front of him. “Get on your knees.”
He bared his teeth. “Make me.”
Of course. I circled behind him and kicked the back of his knee. His leg buckled, but he corrected his balance immediately. Damn! I rooted through the rack of implements, trading the paddle for a baton. He watched with bright curiosity.
When poking him in the back of the knee with the long end didn’t work, I hauled off and swung it. Rafael grunted. His legs quivered, but he did not go down.
“Fuck you for never skipping leg day.” I took up a two-handed grip and swung again, harder.
I swung again before he corrected, and this time he went down. Rafael laughed as his knees hit the mat. His erection never wavered. That fierce sexual delight emboldened me to leap right over leaning in and go for the deep dive—20,000 Leagues Under the Pervert Sea.
I traded the baton for a riding crop, using it to tilt his chin up. “How does your cock feel?”
“Heavy,” Rafael said slowly.
My clit pulsed at the sensual timber of his voice. “And your balls?”
“They ache.”
“Good.” I swatted his nipple with the crop.
He squinted like a belligerent cat. “Really? Is that all?”
I swatted the same nipple again and again until the skin reddened and pebbled. Until he finally hissed. Then I kissed it sweetly and worked on the other side. There, I took as much of his pec as would fit into my mouth and bit down.