by Eden Bradley
SUMMER’S STOMACH WAS fluttering, tight with nerves. Jamie had been sending her texts all day telling her he had wonderfully wicked plans for their evening at The Bastille and she’d better be prepared, and even though she’d sassed him in response as she often did, most of his messages had carried an undertone—or an overtone in some cases—of real menace. It frightened her a bit, but it also turned her on like crazy. When he’d shown up at her door dressed all in black, from his big black boots to his tight black T-shirt and fitted leather pants that he sported like a rock star, her knees had literally gone weak. When they’d stepped off her front porch she saw he’d driven the Corvette, even though they were going to the club in the warehouse district. And she’d known tonight would be special, different from anything she’d ever experienced with him.
Now they were at the club and Jamie was taking his time talking to the corseted woman behind the front desk, leaving Summer to stand next to him, fidgeting. Totally unlike her, even in bottom mode, but the way he’d handled things today was certainly doing its job. She was shaken up, off balance. And so turned on already she could barely stand it. Which, she was sure, was exactly what he’d intended. How had he known she’d respond like this to his stern approach when she hadn’t known herself?
Finally he was done at the desk as a group came in behind him to check in, and he took her hand and led her onto the main floor without a word. Tonight the lighting was all in shades of purple with the occasional red glow from some of the sconces that decorated the highly lacquered black walls. The music was dark, too, rumbling, rasping hard rock with a heavy bass line that made the floors tremble. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach as they walked across the polished wood floors, passing those who were already playing at the different stations: spanking benches, St. Andrew’s crosses, simple chains hung from the ceiling with spreader bars attached to them where male and female bottoms alike were suspended by heavy leather cuffs. At the edge of her vision she caught sight of a beautiful Domme strapping a naked submissive male into an interrogation chair, a trio using one of the padded tables suspended by chains, a tall Dom spanking a petite young woman turned over his knee on one of the plush chairs in a seating area. There were moans and groans of pain and pleasure and the startling snap of a whip from somewhere. And all of it enveloped her, adding to her headspace, making her feel her submission in a way that was energizing. Empowering, somehow, despite the tremors of fear running like a small, live wire just beneath her skin.
Jamie stopped in front of an enormous web made of chain that stood on a giant frame. He placed his bag on the floor to one side of the gleaming web and pulled her closer to him, smiling down at her.
“We’ll play here tonight.”
. . . said the spider to the fly.
She almost had to grin. But the anticipation was building, making her dizzy. And being at the club with Jamie was overloading her in some way she didn’t quite understand. But she loved that aspect of what was happening.
She nodded, waiting for instructions, her head sinking so fast she was having a hard time focusing on anything but Jamie, the beat of the music, the heavy chains she knew he loved and that she was coming to love, too. She could almost feel their cold touch against her skin.
Yes.
Jamie stroked her cheek, his hand trailing over her long hair until he reached the ends, rubbing the strands between his fingers, as he often did. But tonight he seemed more introspective.
“Jamie?”
“What is it?”
“You seem . . . I don’t know. A little distant tonight.”
“My mind is going. Thinking about the evening ahead. Is it alarming you, sugar?”
“No. Of course not.”
He grinned crookedly—a roguish grin. “Maybe it should be.”
Oh, she loved that he messed with her head like that, as ridiculous as it sounded to her turning the words over in her mind. But she was going wet already from the mind-fuck, from simply being there with him. From everything she was seeing. From the ambience of wicked sensuality.
She smiled. “Yes, maybe it should. Maybe I’ll find out later that I should have been more nervous than I am.”
He tilted her chin up with one commanding finger, leaned in as if to kiss her, stopping inches from her lips. He whispered, “Are you nervous at all, Summer Grace? About what I might do to you tonight? About how much you might like it?”
She swallowed, tried to laugh, but it didn’t quite come out right. “I am now.”
“Excellent.” Jamie straightened up, ran a hand down her arm as he spoke, sending delicious little chills through her. “Tonight will be a bit different,” he told her. “I’m going to demand a lot of you. I want you to be very conscious of your safewords. Use them if you need to. I don’t care how brave you think you should be, or how strong. We both already know how strong you are, sweetheart—you have nothing to prove. But this will be a test of sorts. We’re going to try some new toys, see how much you can really take. Because I don’t think we’ve truly tested that yet, do you?”
“No, Jamie,” she answered truthfully. “I know I can take much more. And I want to. It’s something I’ve been thinking about. Something I’ve been craving.”
For him.
He yanked her in hard suddenly, his mouth next to her ear. “Get ready for some testing then, sugar. Because I’m going to be hard on you tonight. Oh yes, very damn hard. And I will take the greatest pleasure in your screams.”
She shivered, unable to answer as he brushed a kiss across her cheek.
He dragged her over to the chain web so suddenly, so forcefully, she lost her footing in her stiletto heels, but he held her up with one strong arm, keeping her from falling. Keeping her safe. And the contradiction of it was a mind-fuck in itself—sweet, gentle Jamie, who was beautifully rough with her at exactly the right moments. And never more rough with her than he was tonight.
He grabbed her chin and forced her gaze to his. “Where are you, Summer Grace?”
“I’m right here.”
He shook his head. “You’re not. I’m asking you again, where are you?”
“I don’t know . . . In my own head too much, maybe?”
“Better. And I agree. Let’s see what we can do to get you more grounded in the moment. Do you remember your safewords? Tell me.”
“Green if everything is good. Yellow if we need to pause or change toys, if I need you to ease up. If I need a drink of water. Red to stop the scene completely.”
“Perfect. Now take off your clothes while I get set up—all but your shoes.”
He released her, turning his back on her to pull different implements from his black toy bag, setting them out on a long table. She swallowed hard when she saw him lay out several long canes in different sizes—both wood and Lucite—but she started to undress, ordering herself to breathe.
She pulled her short black knit dress over her head, then took off her black lace bra. Jamie turned around and put his hand out, nodding his chin. She gave him her clothing, but instead of pulling his hand away he just stood there, watching her with one eyebrow raised.
“All of it.”
She knew she should take her thong off, too. She wanted to. But she felt momentarily frozen. She didn’t know if it was because the way he was treating her was working so well, or if some defense mechanism was kicking in.
Finally he said, “Summer Grace, this is not the time to get bratty with me. And that’s the last warning you’re going to get.”
“I . . . I’m a little disoriented tonight, to be perfectly honest.”
“We don’t need to have any discussion right now. Simply do as you’re told.”
His stern tone rocked her. And made her entire body clench with need. Yearning.
So this is what it’s like to be a true submissive, and not just a bottom.
She felt a little
shocked that she wanted this—the real D/s dynamic and not just sensation and some role-play. A little mad at herself. At Jamie.
“Fine,” she said, yanking her lace thong down and handing it to him.
He took it and put her clothes in the toy bag. When he turned back to her, his eyes were green fire. Green ice. Something was going on with him tonight. And she liked it.
He approached her slowly, and she felt the moment as if it were happening in slow motion. He grabbed her, swinging her around and forcing one arm behind her back, gripping her wrist hard enough to hurt. His other arm went around her throat, and God, she loved when he used breath play on her—constricting her air just enough for her to feel his command, for her to give him her trust completely. Her nipples went hard and her pussy clenched again, desire lancing through her. Fear made her shiver. And beneath it all was that little bit of anger still, preventing her from giving in completely.
Jamie leaned in, his tone low. “Stop struggling, Summer Grace. I understand what you’re going through—a kind of quiet rebellion. You’re not used to this—me refraining from tempering my dominance with gentleness. But you know it’s there if you truly need it. Trust in me that I will give you what you need. But tonight is also about what I need. And I need you to serve my desires. Do you understand that I won’t harm you, no matter how rough the play gets?”
He loosened his hold on her throat and she pulled in a gasping breath. “Of course, Jamie. I wouldn’t be here with you otherwise. And . . .” The words came out in a whisper. “I want to serve your desires. I want to. And maybe I even need to.”
“Ah, there’s my good girl.”
Those words, his approval, melted away the last of her anger. Melted her all over. Her mind was emptying out, her head starting to buzz. And he hadn’t really done anything yet. She realized in some distant way that this was where the power was in the D/s roles. It wasn’t in the pain play, although more would manifest once that began. She could hardly wait.
He pressed her back a few steps, then a few more until her back came into contact with the web of chains. They were cool against her bare skin, and she shivered.
“Cold, sweetheart? I’ll warm you up, baby.”
With a hand on her throat, his fingers pressing, he kissed her hard. His mouth was so lush and sweet—he tasted like mint and pure Jamie. Her Jamie. Like sex and familiarity.
He pulled back. “Warmer?” he asked.
“A little.”
He smiled down at her, his dimples flashing, and for one moment he looked like her sweet Jamie again. Then his grip on her throat tightened and he crushed her lips with his, his big body pressing her hard against the chains, until they dug into her flesh a bit. But she was nearly swooning at the feel of him—his tall, muscled frame, the ridge of his arousal against her belly. She moaned into his mouth as his tongue slid into hers, exploring. Demanding. She could barely breathe—literally, as his big hand tightened on her throat. When she gasped he released her and she sank into him, her legs weak.
“You like it when I choke you.”
“Yes.”
“So do I.”
“God, Jamie—”
“Shh. Quiet now. You’ll talk only when I ask you a question, or if you need to safeword. I’m going to cuff you to the chains. Can you stand by yourself?”
“Yes, Jamie.”
He made sure she was steady on her feet before stepping back to get the padded leather cuffs. He gave a nod of his chin and she held her wrists out for him. He fastened the cuffs, then clipped them with a pair of carabiners to the big web so that her arms were spread wide. Then he pulled another pair of larger cuffs from his back pocket and knelt to shackle her ankles to the web, as well. She felt exposed, beautifully wanton in her pretty high-heeled shoes and nothing else but her ravenous desire.
He rose to his feet and brushed a quick kiss across her mouth, then nibbled on her lower lip. “Beautiful girl,” he said before stepping back, and she watched as he looped the small leather handles of three canes onto a hook on his belt.
She closed her eyes and waited.
Jamie began to stroke her skin—her arms, her sides, then her breasts. She arched into his hands as much as she was able to, but she was bound tightly. Her nipples were so hard they hurt, and when he stroked them with his thumbs she moaned quietly. She was soaked already—her clit, the lips of her sex, tight and swollen with need. He kept stroking the two hard peaks, then pinched them lightly. When he bent to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, she groaned, pulling against her bonds.
“Oh, you like that, baby. But I think you’ll like this even better.”
He straightened up, looking down at her with a half-smile on his handsome face as he slipped a hand behind her neck and began to tap her thigh with one of the smaller canes. It didn’t hurt at first, and she understood he was establishing a rhythm. The tapping became harder, stinging her skin as she sank into the quick cadence of it. It felt good, her body, her brain, converting the small pain into pleasure that shimmered through her system. Then there was one sharp smack and she yelped. He stopped. Looked into her eyes.
“Are we still green?”
“Yes. We’re green.” She wanted more. Wanted it harder.
He started once more, harder this time, and pleasure swarmed her body in a warm tide. Her head was sinking into the rhythm as much as her body was. Then he hit her with one vicious smack across the front of both thighs and she cried out.
“Oh!”
He smoothed a hand over the hurting places and the pain became pleasure. Desire. The need for more.
More, more, more . . .
“Here we go now, sweetheart,” he whispered in warning. It was soothing and threatening at the same time. She loved it.
He hit one thigh with the cane, a sharp snap of the wood, and the pain reverberated through her system, followed by an enormous release of the lovely brain chemicals that helped her to handle it, to float in subspace. He hit her again, a quick volley of smacks over the front and sides of her thighs, and she gasped and groaned, but he didn’t stop to let her ride out the pain from each strike. Just when she thought she’d have to call yellow, he pressed a hand between her spread legs and began to massage her, rubbing her hard clit, two fingers thrusting inside her. The caning went on, and at one point she thought he switched to a heavier implement. The pain was more intense, but it only caused more of the lovely endorphins to be released in her brain, until she was nothing more than a being of pure sensation. There was only one thought in her head, over and over.
Love him. Love him. Love him.
* * *
JAMIE FELT HER soft, hot inner muscles squeezing his fingers, felt how wet she was, swollen with desire that echoed with each stroke of the Lucite cane. He wasn’t even sure she was aware that he was using it on her—this heavy cane with the evil, sharp-edged twists in the Lucite, making it an incredibly high-pain toy. No, she was high as a kite on sensation. He could see it in the way her tightly bound body bowed a little with each hard stroke. In how gorgeously wet she was. In the heavy cadence of her breath. She was moaning, but he recognized it more as low sounds of pleasure than pain.
He kept up the quick cadence while he thrust his fingers inside her. She was welting gorgeously, the red marks rising on her skin. He could smell her desire, the scent of her hair, mixing into some intoxicating perfume. And he was hard as steel, as hard as any of his canes. She was so damn beautiful it was overwhelming, and never more so than at this moment, as her body surrendered what her psyche didn’t want to. But even that inner struggle was beautiful to him.
Her hot little pussy tightened and he ordered her, “No, Summer Grace. Do not come.” He gave her left thigh a hard smack that had her crying out. “That’s right. Your climax is your gift to me. It’s mine. Say it.”
She’s mine. She belongs to me, damn it.
“Yes,
it’s yours. I come for you, Jamie.”
Her words hit him like a small blow to the chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d made her say such a thing to him, but the words carried more power than ever before. He had to pause and take a breath, shaking his head.
Get it under control.
He gave her thigh another sharp crack with the evil cane.
“Ow! God . . .”
He did it again, spreading his fingers inside her, opening her up.
“Jamie . . .”
“Are you safewording?”
“What? No.”
He hit her across both thighs.
“Ah, God!”
“Wrong name, sweetheart.”
And again.
“Ah! Fuck. Jamie.”
She was writhing, and he could see the pain and pleasure warring in her body. And she was soaking wet, flooding his hand with each stroke of the cane, which told him pleasure was winning. He wanted to bring her pleasure. Wanted to bring her pain. For her. For him. He needed to know she trusted him this much. That she wanted this. That she wanted him to be the one who did these things to her. Only him.
Fuck.
He dropped the cane and bent to unhook her ankle cuffs, then her wrists, and she fell into his arms. He kissed her cheeks, her closed eyelids, as he carried her to the leather love seat next to the giant web. He sat with her in his lap, stroking her hair from her flushed cheeks. And cursed himself as tears spilled from beneath her closed eyelids.
“Baby, baby,” he murmured.
“Jamie,” she gasped, blinking, her arms winding around his neck.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
She buried her face in his neck, and he loved the warmth of her breath there, but he had to have an answer. He took her face in his hand, forcing her gaze to his. Her blue eyes were glazed with tears and need, her lids heavy. And Christ, he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Tell me, Summer Grace.”
“It’s just . . . You’ve never played me so hard before.”
“Too hard?”
She shook her head, her blonde hair all over the place, like scattered corn silk. “It’s like everything I’ve ever needed. I had no idea—no idea! It’s not just the pain. It’s the way you command me, Jamie. I didn’t know I would love it this much.”
