Dylan reached into his pocket and pulled out a silky black sash. He held it in one hand, running his fingers along the length of it with his other. The gesture was sensual in the extreme. “Have you ever been blindfolded, Zoë?”
“No, Sir,” she managed to reply, her eyes fixed on his thick, blunt fingers stroking the sash.
“As our first exercise,” Dylan said as he moved to stand behind her, “we’re going to play a game you may remember from your childhood. It’s called Trust.” He tapped her interlaced hands lightly, adding, “Drop your arms to your sides for this exercise.”
Zoë obeyed, relieved to lower her arms, which had been starting to ache.
“In the game called Trust, one person stands behind the other”—as he spoke, he brought the sash around her head, securing it over her eyes and tying it behind her—“with his arms out. The one in front falls backward, trusting the other to catch her before she crashes to the floor. Are you familiar with the game, Zoë?”
The blindfold achieved its purpose of plunging her into sudden darkness. She was off-balance, and her heart was thumping so loudly she was sure Dylan must hear it. “Yes, Sir,” she managed, her voice trembling slightly. “We played it at camp.” She didn’t add that she was never any good at it. Oh, she was fine being the catcher, but she had never mastered the ability to just let go and trust that someone, even Corrine, her very best friend in the world all through school, would actually be there to break her fall.
She jumped a little as Dylan’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Relax,” he whispered. “Tension is a form of resistance.” Zoë let out a sigh of pleasure as his skilled fingers loosened muscles she hadn’t been aware she was tensing.
After a while, his hands slid forward and down to cup her breasts. Her nipples jutted against his palms. He must feel her pounding heart. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to let it out slowly.
“The game,” he said softly, his mouth close to her ear, “contains an element of danger. You risk that the other person won’t catch you and you’ll fall. It can be a difficult game, but when the falling player trusts the catcher enough to let go completely, the experience for both is a moment of exhilaration that’s difficult to duplicate.”
He let her breasts go, his hands gliding upward along her breastbone. She gasped as one hand curled lightly around her throat above the loose dog collar, as he had done the night before when he kissed her.
“BDSM provides the same kind of exhilaration.” Dylan’s grip on her throat made her knees feel weak, as if she might crumple to the ground if he let her go. He placed his other hand on the small of her back, the touch warm and steadying, the combined effect at once confusing and thrilling. “When trust trumps the possibility of harm, the result is incredibly intimate and erotic. Those who have the courage and honesty to engage in a true power exchange share the most nurturing and intimate bond possible.”
He kissed her neck and Zoë shivered, unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch. She had to bite back a cry of dismay when he stepped back, his hands falling away.
“Can you do it, Zoë? Can you let go and fall back into my arms? I will not let you fall. I promise.”
Zoë tried to picture herself falling back into Dylan’s arms. The tension he’d eased out of her shoulders a moment before recoiled in her muscles, even as she gave herself a direct order to follow through. You can do this. You can totally do this. Just let go. He’ll catch you. You know he will.
She leaned back, waiting for gravity to aid her in her effort. She found herself grateful for the blindfold—it blotted everything out but the moment, giving her a focus she might not otherwise have. She could feel Dylan waiting patiently behind her. She imagined his strong arms spread, his large hands open on either side of her, waiting to wrap her into a safe, warm embrace as she fell back against him.
Nothing happened. Her body had turned into stone. She couldn’t move a muscle.
“Zoë?”
Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids behind the blindfold. “I can’t,” she muttered. “I can’t do it.”
She waited for the anger, the reproach, the “correction.” But all he said was, “Don’t worry, Zoë. Trust is a two-way street. If it’s meant to be, we’ll get there together.”
~*~
Dylan would have been stunned if Zoë had in fact managed to complete the trust exercise so quickly out of the gate. He had already observed the hard, protective shell she’d probably spent a lifetime unconsciously building around her emotions, and he’d have been amazed if she’d managed to lower it on her own with a man she barely knew.
Since he’d joined The Vault, a members-only BDSM club for serious players committed to the lifestyle, Dylan had trained a number of submissives. As a part of the training, he’d often used that particular exercise to get a sense of a new sub’s level of trust and ease. He’d found even eager, willing sub girls who expressed a strong desire to submit sometimes had trouble with the Trust game.
Zoë was an unknown quantity at this point, despite his near-certainty of a submissive nature hidden beneath the accomplished and driven businesswoman persona she presented to the world. In a way, her innocence regarding the scene was a plus. She didn’t come to him with preconceived notions of how a Dom should behave, and what she could expect. It was all shiny and new.
He sensed her tension and her fear, but also her excitement. His initial assessment of her submissive potential hadn’t lessened. If anything, he was surer than ever. The next exercise he had planned would help him gauge the masochistic aspect of her psyche, and just the thought of it made his cock hard.
He regarded her standing before him, the blindfold covering her eyes, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. She fidgeted a little—shifting from foot to foot, her tongue flicking nervously over her lips, but otherwise doing quite well at just doing nothing, especially given her complete lack of training.
He moved slowly around her, admiring her long, lean curves and the high heft of her well-rounded breasts. Her nipples were fully erect and flushed a deep red against the creamy white of her skin where no sun had kissed it. The tailored business suits she had worn during their professional time together, while elegant and flattering, had mostly hidden her lush and curvaceous femininity.
Stepping behind her, Dylan removed the blindfold. Tucking the sash back into his pocket, he moved to face her. She blinked rapidly as her eyes readjusted to the light. Her eyes locked on his, her full lips slightly pursed, as if she were waiting for a kiss.
Distracted by that lush mouth, Dylan had to force himself to focus. “We’re going to engage in some pretty intense scenes over the course of the weekend, and though I will pay close attention to your body and your reactions, sometimes a Dom can miss distress signals, and has to be hit over the head, metaphorically speaking. That’s where a safeword comes in. When you use the word, it stops all action immediately and completely. Just be aware—a safeword shouldn’t be used lightly. It’s like the fire alarm behind the glass—for emergencies only. That said, if you’re panicking during a scene and I don’t seem to be picking up on your cues, you can use the word, and all action will cease.”
Zoë’s eyes had widened as he spoke, her breath quickening, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Dylan put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into those beautiful, dark eyes. “Hey, calm down. I’ve been in the scene for over a decade. I should tell you, no sub has ever had to use her safeword with me. Ever.”
By the same token, no woman he’d worked with before had signed on for training in exchange for investment money, without any real indication they were submissive. What if he was reading her wrong, and she had only gone along with this whole thing to get the money she needed to complete her deal?
Not for the first time since he’d made the impulsive agreement, Dylan wondered if he was insane. He took the gift of erotic submission seriously, and would never dream of pushing his sexual agenda on a woman who wasn’t one hundr
ed percent willing.
But Zoë could have said no. She could have refused—he’d given her the opportunity to back out of the deal, but she’d steadfastly stuck to her guns. Despite the unorthodox nature of their arrangement, Dylan remained convinced Zoë was a sub in need of a D/s deflowering. And damn if he wasn’t just the Dom to do it.
This mental pep talk took only a few seconds to register and, newly resolved, Dylan continued, “We’ll choose a word together. Something from the world of high finance would be fitting. Do you have a suggestion of a word you can easily remember that has nothing to do with BDSM?”
“Buyout,” Zoë offered without hesitation.
“Buyout it is,” Dylan agreed.
Taking a step back, he reached for the O-ring at the center of her collar and gave it a little tug. “Come on. Let’s go over to the bed. I’m going to sit with my feet on the floor, and you’re going to lie over my lap, facedown. Do you know why?”
“No, Sir,” she whispered, swallowing hard. Her nipples, he noted, were still fully erect.
“Because I’m going to spank you.”
Her mouth opened into an O, matching the sound she made, which was long and drawn out. “Ooooooh.” The response could have been prompted either by fear or desire, or maybe it was both.
She was so fucking hot, and it was all he could do not to throw her on the rug in that instant and plunge his aching cock into her heat.
Instead, his finger looped through the O-ring, he guided her to the bed. Letting her go, he sat. She stood uncertainly before him. “Have you ever been spanked? I’m not talking about parental swats. I’m talking about a lover holding you down and smacking that gorgeous ass of yours.”
“No, Sir!” Zoë replied with such vehemence Dylan had to chuckle.
Dylan patted his leg. “Come on, now. Do as you’re told.”
Zoë held herself tentatively over him. He helped her into position, shifting her body until her sexy little bottom was perched on his thighs, her upper half resting along the mattress.
She held herself tight as a bowstring. Dylan stroked her back. “Relax. I think you’ll find this a very sensuous experience, if you open yourself to it. I’ll start by warming the skin, and I’ll steadily increase the intensity to gauge your pain tolerance levels, okay?”
“Is it going to hurt?” Zoë’s normally low, sultry voice rose nearly to a squeak, and again Dylan smiled, though this time he managed to keep the chuckle at bay. He didn’t want to her to think he was making fun of her, but she was so adorable.
“Yes,” he replied. “That’s the idea, Zoë. It’s supposed to hurt, but the experience isn’t designed just to inflict pain for its sake. This is what we call ‘erotic pain’ and it has a very specific purpose. Actually it serves a lot of purposes at once. One is the giving of yourself over to another person—allowing them the intimacy of using your body in a way you wouldn’t normally allow.
“Then there is the focus on the actual sensations—the feel of my hand on your skin, of the blood rushing to the surface, of your muscles tensing and moving, and then ultimately relaxing as you stop resisting and learn to let go. The goal is to give yourself over to both the experience and your Dom. It can be extraordinarily liberating.”
He was silent a moment as he tried to come up with an analogy she might understand. His hands moved over her soft, supple skin, his cock hard as steel beneath her naked body. “Think about a strenuous hike up a difficult mountain,” he finally said. “By the end, you’re drenched with sweat, every muscle aches, brambles and thorns have scraped your skin. Then you reach the summit, and a new feeling takes over. You experience this incredible exhilaration to have made it to the top, and you can hardly believe the sheer beauty and power of the vista spreading before you. And the difficult journey to that point makes the achievement all the sweeter and more meaningful. That’s what a successful BDSM scene is like, not just for the receiver, but for the giver as well.”
He struck her ass lightly with his open palm, the slapping sound of skin on skin echoing in the air. Zoë stiffened and jerked beneath his touch. “Ouch!” she squealed, though he knew he hadn’t hurt her, only startled her.
“Relax,” he urged, striking her again, just a little harder. “Let yourself begin the journey. Feel the sensations without judgment. Accept the pain.” He struck her once more. “Embrace it.” He kept his other hand on her lower back, both to steady her and to provide the comfort of touch.
At first she continued to squirm and tense. She was breathing rapidly, her breath ragged and shallow. “Breathe,” he urged. “Stop resisting, Zoë. It’s much easier to take when you open yourself to receive. Take this first step with me.” He began to smack her in a steady rain of rapid strokes, alternating cheeks until the skin began to darken to a pretty pink.
After a while, he was very pleased to note her squirming had stopped, though her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides. “Relax your hands,” he said. “Uncurl your fingers and try to slow your breathing.”
He wasn’t sure she had heard him, but after several long beats, her fingers unfurled. She drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it out.
Encouraged, Dylan drew back his arm, cupped his palm, and gave her the first real smack, smashing down so her groin ground against his. Over and over he struck her with force, giving her the kind of spanking that would send a trained sub flying within minutes.
She tensed again beneath the onslaught, squirming and whimpering, and crying out, “Ouch! It hurts! Stop, oh stop!”
He didn’t stop.
She didn’t say her safeword.
He spoke in a low, calming voice near her ear. “You’re doing great, Zoë. You can do this. You’re almost there.” He continued the spanking, watching her skin darken from pink to red, careful to keep up the intensity without taking it too far, too fast.
And then it happened.
All at once the resistance went out of her. Someone not familiar with the masochistic sensibility might have thought she’d merely given up, but Dylan knew otherwise. Her breathing had slowed, her hands rested easily by her sides, her toes no longer curled, her muscles no longer tensed. He continued the spanking, slowly but steadily easing the intensity until he was merely stroking the heated flesh of those perfect globes.
Zoë didn’t move or react in any way. She lay limp and heavy over his lap and it occurred to him she might actually be asleep, a not uncommon result at the end of an intense session that culminates in full release.
I knew it, he thought exultantly.
He leaned over her, his mouth brushing the curve of her small, delicate ear. “You were born for this,” he whispered.
She answered with a small, sweet sigh.
Chapter 4
Dylan’s hands felt so good moving over her flesh. His fingers slid down along her ass to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. An extraordinary sense of peace and well-being suffused her, and she couldn’t remember feeling this relaxed since she was a child. “Mmm,” she heard herself murmur, a sound of pure satisfaction pulled from somewhere deep inside her. “Mmm.”
She realized with a small shock that she couldn’t move. Her bones had dissolved, and her muscles had turned to jelly. Finally she stopped thinking altogether and simply surrendered to the peace that enveloped her.
Strong arms suddenly lifted her into the air and set her down on the carpet. “On your knees, Zoë. Back straight, hands on your thighs.”
It took Zoë a moment to return from the blissful place she’d been a moment before. She looked up to see Dylan standing over her, his hands on his hips. “What?” she blurted in confusion. “What’s happening?”
Dylan was looking down at her, a half smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Zoë. I warned you the weekend would be intense. Normally I’d have given you more time to come down, but we only have so many hours, and I have a lot of things planned for you.” He stood, and in spite of herself, Zoë’s eyes were drawn to the very obvious erection tenting
his shorts.
Her cunt spasmed in response, but when she looked again at his face, Dylan was frowning. “I gave you a direct command. Obey it at once.”
Chagrined, Zoë struggled to replay in her mind what he’d said a moment before. Blowing out a breath, she scrambled to her knees. Dylan reached for a bottle of water he must have brought with him when he’d entered the room that morning.
He handed her the bottle. “You may drink as much of that as you wish,” he said. “But pay attention because I’m only going to give you the next set of instructions once, and I expect you to adhere to them to the letter.”
Whatever was left of the sensual lethargy she’d experienced while lying on his lap evaporated completely. He continued, “I’m going to go make some breakfast for us. While I’m gone, you will shower and groom. You may remove the collar while showering, but then put it back on. In addition to underarms and legs, you will shave your pussy and asshole completely smooth. There is a pair of barber’s scissors in the drawer so you can trim before you shave, if you wish.
“Once you’re done with grooming, you may dry yourself. You will not wear any makeup. You will pull your hair back in a ponytail. If you don’t have an elastic in your bag, you’ll find an unopened packet of them in the drawer as well.
“When I return, I expect to find you standing at attention beneath the suspension beam. I will inspect you carefully, so make sure you do a thorough job.” He paused a beat. “Any questions?”
You bet your ass I have questions. Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to shave my pussy and asshole? First of all, my asshole isn’t hairy, thank you, and second, I’m here for a weekend. We’re talking a matter of hours. How dare you order me to alter my appearance to such a degree? What’s on the schedule after breakfast? You going to tell me to shave my head?
He was staring down at her, his eyes boring into hers, his mouth set in a firm line, power emanating from him like a force-field. She experienced a sudden crazy impulse to lean forward and kiss the top of his bare foot. What the hell was happening to her?
Brokered Submission Page 4
