by Kim Dare
She walked quietly at his side. The only sound was the rustle of his jacket against her dress and the click of her heels on the pavement. Matching his long stride to a pace she could comfortably manage in high heels made sure he had plenty of time to think on the way to the car.
Inside his sports car, Hannah settled quickly, doing up her belt and folding her hands neatly on her lap. There was no tension to her stillness. In the few minutes it took to drive out of the car park and turn towards home, Vincent knew the submission was only partially a well-choreographed act. He would bet anything she was always so restful a presence.
"I don't live far, on Elm Road,” he told her.
Hannah nodded her understanding. That was about it for appropriate one-sided car conversation, but her silence absorbed words and demanded more to fill the space. The roar of the car engine seeped out of the small interior. Vincent was very glad it was as short a drive as he'd promised. He soon pulled up outside his new house.
One of a long line of houses in a Georgian terrace, the only thing marking it out as different was the sold sign on the front of the house. Vincent glared at it. If the estate agents didn't turn up and take the garish advertisement down in the next two days, he was going to take the damn thing down himself and burn it. But at least it explained why everything was upside down in the house.
Hannah glanced at the sign when she followed him up the short path to the front door. She said nothing. When she looked at him there was no question in her eyes. What had Frank said? One night—no repeat performances? He was here tonight, and she obviously didn't care if he was moving in or out.
Vincent took a moment finding the light switch in the hallway. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn't even dominant over his own house right then. Still feeling slightly out of balance and his normal role, Vincent did his considerable best not to look like an idiot.
He cleared the two armchairs of half-emptied cardboard boxes and sat in the one on the right. Before he could indicate he wished her to sit opposite him, Hannah knelt at his feet.
Her eyes fluttered up but her gaze didn't quite reach his eyes. They settled somewhere near his mouth, focusing her attention on him, but not risking eye contact. He stayed silent and eventually she lifted her eyes up to his.
There was a question there. She wasn't sure if she was in the right place. Glancing at the chair and then back to him, she didn't move without a command.
Vincent didn't usually hold with negotiating scenes with someone on their knees, but if all he could do was read the tiny details in her body language and her expression then the closer she was the better.
"Put a cushion under your knees,” he ordered. “There's one on the chair behind you.” There was no point in her being uncomfortable just for the sake of it.
She retrieved the cushion and knelt once more at his feet.
"Do you know how to negotiate a scene?"
Hannah nodded.
Vincent decided to take her word for it and see what happened. “What are your limits?"
Reaching into a pocket on the inside hem of her dress, Hannah delicately extracted a packet of condoms and offered them to him.
"Safe sex,” he translated. It was a good start. He wouldn't have gone bare-back anyway, but Hannah's being confident enough to insist reassured him she had experience with setting limits. “What else?"
She put a hand around her throat.
"No neck restriction.” Vincent nodded—nothing unusual there.
Turning her wrist over, she showed him a small scar on the inside of her arm.
"No marks,” he agreed—logical, especially with a very temporary partner.
She indicated a photo on the top of a half-unpacked box showing Vincent with several of his friends.
"No third parties,” he confirmed again.
Hannah touched his watch.
"You have to leave at a certain time?"
Vincent received another nod.
He tilted the watch to her so she could see the face.
She touched the dial at the two o'clock mark.
"You have to leave at two?"
Hannah nodded and fell motionless.
"Anything else?” he checked.
She shook her head.
"I don't suppose you have a safe word?"
Hannah shook her head again.
Well, she was about to get one because there was no way in hell Vincent was playing with a stranger without one. He quickly considered his options.
"Stay there."
He hadn't got around to putting the new doorbell in place yet. He brought it back, along with the receiver unit for the electrical signal. Vincent put the receiving speaker on the side table at his elbow and offered her the bell.
"Press the button."
She did so. The bell rang out three loud chimes.
"This is your safe word. If you press the button everything stops. Understand?"
Hannah appeared somewhat surprised, but accepted the door bell and nodded her understanding.
Vincent bit back the command to have her repeat every instruction back to him. It was a basic safety precaution to make sure the submissive understood what was expected of them. He looked down at Hannah. Safety precautions...
Any woman who walked out of a club with a man she just met needed someone to sit her down and have a long talk about raising her safety standards in general.
He wasn't enough of a hypocrite to have the talk with her right then, but he had to ask. “Aren't you worried I'll hurt you?"
Hannah shook her head. Her eyes met his. It was the truth as she saw it.
"Why not?"
She stroked her fingertips across his eyes.
"You think you can read cruelty in a man's eyes?” he asked.
Hannah nodded, perfectly serious.
He shook his head at the idea. “And if you were wrong?"
She shrugged.
That annoyed the hell out of him. If she belonged to him, he would soon put a stop to such foolishness. Of course it would be a moot point. If she belonged to him, she wouldn't go around picking up strange men in clubs full stop.
Pushing away the suddenly less than comfortable knowledge she didn't belong to him, at least not for more than one night, Vincent stood up and helped Hannah to her feet. She followed him into the hallway and up the stairs without any hesitation or concern over what he intended to do with her.
He opened the door to the master bedroom. The house still didn't feel like his home, but it was time to make it feel like his domain.
Inside the bedroom, the important things were already unpacked. There was his bed, the one it took the moving men three hours to get up the stairs. Vincent had to admit it was something of a monstrosity. It was a bugger to find a bedroom it would even fit in.
It practically went without saying a brass bed frame should look old fashioned and homely, but when the metal writhed and twisted at each end, sinuously curling around itself in a way which made everyone who saw it want to reach out and stroke, it became something altogether more interesting.
The frame was a work of art. It had also proved itself to be an amazingly versatile piece of kit, for a man who enjoyed tying his lovers up.
Along with the bed, Vincent had found time to unpack crisp dark red sheets and his toy box. He might not know where in the dozens of boxes littering his kitchen the tin opener was, but he could put his hands on a pair of handcuffs at a moment's notice. A man had to stick to his priorities.
Vincent looked across at Hannah.
"I'm going to tie you up."
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Chapter Two
Hannah turned from her study of the bed frame and smiled her acceptance. She offered him her wrists. Vincent smiled back at her and flipped open the toy box with the ease of a long practice. She didn't even look to see what was in it. His smile broadened. Hannah really did know how to play the game.
He saw no sign of panic in her. True, Hannah's breath cam
e quicker and he was sure her blood pulsed frantically through her veins, but it was arousal, not nerves, and Vincent certainly wasn't about to complain about that.
He left her standing there with her hands extended in offering. If she was as experienced a submissive as he suspected, she needed no additional bondage to keep them there. She was bound by her offer and couldn't take it back without pressing the doorbell.
"Check your safe word,” he commanded.
She pressed the button. The receiver he placed on the night stand sounded out the same notes he'd heard downstairs.
"Now,” he said. “Let's see what you have to say for yourself."
A woman who offered no words couldn't object to her body being read in other ways. Vincent lined his body up against Hannah's back. Stroking his fingers over her neck, he found the pulsing line of her jugular and pressed his fingertips against her skin.
The beat raced just as fast as he suspected. Vincent smiled and whispered in her ear. “There are some signs you can't silence, Hannah. You don't have to use words. I can still hear everything you say to me."
She stayed completely still but he felt her swallow as the muscles in her throat worked and she fought to preserve her calm demeanour.
Taking the tip of her earlobe between his lips, he tugged gently with his teeth and stroked the sensitive skin with his tongue. There it was. The tiny little sign he was waiting for.
It wasn't a gasp. It was barely a hesitation in her slow even breaths, but it was there. Vincent transferred his attention to her throat. He kissed his way down to her shoulder—enjoying the strange novelty of a neck not interrupted by a collar. Moving his body away from the inviting curve of her back, he found the zipper running down the back of her dress.
"Let's see what else you have to say."
The zipper slid down in a murmur of metal teeth. Her strapless dress slithered to the floor in a swish of soft, expensive leather. It pooled around her feet, almost hiding her shoes from view. Vincent left it there, knowing it was just as effective as more formal bondage. Hannah would find it practically impossible to extract her stilettos from the circle of fabric quickly.
She didn't even try. Hannah remained motionless, her hands still invisibly bound by her invitation.
Less of her body was revealed than Vincent expected. A strapless basque covered almost as much skin as her dress had concealed. The delicate concoction of black lace was completely out of keeping with the leather. Vincent let his fingers trail over it, enjoying the contrasting texture.
The surfeit of material on the basque was nicely balanced by the almost absence of lace in the thong. Her backside was bared for him—inviting a spanking. Vincent resisted the temptation. She'd said no marks. A beautifully reddened bottom was a pleasure they'd have to keep for next time.
Vincent shook his head at himself. There wasn't going to be a next time. He pushed the idea away and pulled Hannah back towards him until her naked buttocks pressed against his fly. The position and his height advantage gave him a wonderful view over her shoulder and down her body. Trailing his hands over her skin, he watched as Hannah failed to keep complete control of her reactions and her breathing changed again.
Her nipples hardened under the thin lace. He stroked one through the transparent covering before sliding the material aside. Rolling the tight nub between his fingertips, he tightened his grip until he felt every muscle in her body tense. Her shoulders flinched. Her buttocks twitched.
Already hard, he pressed his erection more firmly against her backside. Hannah leaned very slightly back. The subtle shift in position wasn't large enough for her to be criticised for moving without permission, but it was definitely an invitation. Vincent rocked his hips against her, but he wasn't going take her on her first offer. He wanted far more from her than that.
Mere acceptance wasn't good enough. He wanted Hannah writhing for him, bucking helpless against his body while he held her on the edge and made her wait for her orgasm. Hell, a dominant should always be honest with himself. Vincent wanted to make her whimper, beg, and scream. Anything that involved breaking her self-imposed silence would do.
Vincent wanted Hannah's voice.
But until then, there was no reason not to enjoy the other ways her body could communicate. He lifted his fingers from where they teased her nipple and offered them to her mouth. “Lick."
There was no evidence of a complex thought process. Simple command and response took over. Hannah parted her lips. Her tongue caressed his fingertip and the pad of his thumb, diligently moistening the digits. When he took his hand away, her tongue continued to lap at the empty air for a moment and Vincent realised her eyes had drifted closed.
He returned his fingers to her breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers, transferring the moisture to her sensitive skin. Leaning forward, Vincent looked down her body and blew over the moisture. Her nipple peaked. She made that half a breath sound again.
She arched her back, pushing her breast forward, eager for more stimulation, but he slid his hand lower instead, brushing past the scarce coverage of the thong. He slid his fingers against her pussy. Slipping the digits between her labia, he found the welcoming warmth and moisture he'd anticipated.
Her murmur was barely audible. He wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't had his ear just inches from her lips. She wasn't capable of complete silence then. Vincent smiled. Hannah couldn't stop the instinct to push herself against his fingers either. He half-indulged the request for stimulation, seeking out her clitoris and catching it between thumb and forefinger to echo his attentions to her breast.
She jerked against him but her hands stayed extended. She looked amazing in her offering, but it wasn't an ideal arrangement. His view and his access to her body were both limited. Vincent stepped away without any warning. Hannah swayed back, trying to maintain contact, but she somehow kept her balance.
He walked around her, taking the opportunity to enjoy her from each angle. She was beautifully mussed up. He completed the picture by taking the clip out of her hair. It fell in glorious chestnut waves over her shoulders, one curl strayed across her face. She didn't move her hands to push it back.
Pleased with her stillness, Vincent tucked the curl behind her ear for her. “Take off your clothes. You can move your hands."
Hannah's fingers trembled very slightly as she reached behind her and undid the catches holding her basque in place. It dropped to the floor, lying alongside her dress in a pretty combination of lace and leather. Hannah stepped out of her thong and let the scrap of fabric drop from her fingertips to join the rest at her feet.
A glance at the discarded clothes and a swift look up at him requested instruction.
"Fold them neatly and put them on top of that box—your shoes, too."
She knelt next to the small pile of clothes and began to fold them, completing each action briskly and with complete economy of movement. She appeared entirely unselfconscious.
Vincent was acutely conscious of every inch of exposed skin. It would have been impossible to keep his admiring gaze from sweeping over her body, but he didn't even try. A master had every right to study his submissive however he pleased, and watching Hannah pleased him a great deal.
She had beautiful breasts—lush and round, just begging to be touched and tasted and teased. Past the narrow curve of her hip she was waxed completely bare. He could see the pink duskiness of her labia as she stood and placed the pile of clothes and shoes on the box he'd indicated. His cock jerked in the increasingly uncomfortable confines of his trousers.
Hannah turned, eyes still slightly lowered to the level of his lips, and waited for the next instruction. When one wasn't instantly forthcoming, she knelt with her hands folded tidily and fell completely motionless.
Vincent merely continued his observations for a few minutes. Someone had obviously put a lot of effort into training Hannah, perfecting her inclination to submission, enhancing it with all the erotic little rituals and mannerisms she employed so a
utomatically and—
No. Vincent jerked himself back into action. He wasn't going to think about that. He didn't want a picture of her submitting to another man in his head. Stepping forward, he tilted her head back until her gaze came up to his. Her eyes were a darker blue now, deepened by her arousal, but the calm was still there.
They had all night. But while he intended to make their play time last for every second of it, Vincent decided there was no point killing himself with frustration just to tease her.
He opened his palm, offering her one of the condoms she'd presented to him at the start of the scene. She took it and looked up at him, waiting for a specific instruction.
He was sure if he left her a few seconds longer she would take the initiative, but one of them had to keep talking.
"I want your mouth."
Hannah swallowed. Her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips.
"I want you to suck my cock, Hannah. Would you like that?"
She nodded.
Vincent kept her head tilted back so he could see into her eyes. Perhaps that was what made this night feel different to other casual hook-ups. Vincent had to keep making eye contact. He had to keep trying to read her. He couldn't just do as he pleased and expect her to speak up for herself. He had to make more of an effort and that automatically made it more personal.
What he saw in her eyes right then was acceptance and arousal. He nodded to her just once. Hannah closed her fingers around the condom and raised her hands to his belt. She touched it lightly and looked up at him.
His cock strained against his fly, demanding to be freed from the confines of the fabric. He didn't have the patience to insist she use her teeth. “Use your hands,” he ordered.
In moments he was free. Vincent stroked her hair away from her face when it fell across her eyes, she smiled her thanks for the mild gesture. Pulling his jeans down so she had room to work, she looked up for specific instructions. He let her have free reign to see what she would do.
Tearing the condom packet open, she put the wrapper on the floor to her side and slipped the rolled latex sheath into her mouth. Steadying his shaft with one hand Hannah rolled the condom down with her lips. She took him further and further into her mouth, until Vincent felt the head of his cock touch the back of her throat, before rolling it the rest of the way to the base with her fingers.
