The Beauty of Surrender

by Eden Bradley

  They stepped inside, and Desmond took her coat, handed it to a female attendant dressed in black and red leather, a steel collar around her slender neck. When he slid a hand around Ava’s waist, that heat moved lower, between her thighs, all slick, liquid fire.

  “Are you ready, Ava?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her voice was a low moan.

  They moved through a curtained doorway and into the main room of the club. She had to blink, trying to adjust to the dim lights in red and amber. Taking a breath, she pulled in the scents of old brick and plaster, and something dark and earthy: excitement, sex, along with the lingering fragrance of someone’s perfume.

  But she didn’t have time to think about it. Desmond was taking her across the room, past the Saint Andrew’s crosses, enormous wooden X’s with mostly naked bodies cuffed and chained to them, the row of leather-covered spanking benches. Past the low leather sofas scattered around the perimeter of the room, where people gathered to talk, to relax, to watch. But it was all going by in a blur. All she could think of was Desmond’s hand burning into her skin even through the leather of her dress, his solid presence beside her. What he was about to do to her.

  He led her to the back of the room and to a spiral wrought-iron staircase, held her tightly to his side as they walked up, making her feel owned already. Then they were in the bondage room on the second floor, a more open and quieter space than the open playroom on the first floor. A more meditative space.

  Some sort of trance music played softly in the background as the rope masters worked silently on the racks and large bondage frames she’d seen before, like huge wood-framed boxes with no walls, just the hooks and eyebolts set into them every few inches so that the ropes could be run through them in different ways.

  She was really shaking now, the sense of expectancy building moment by moment. Desmond’s presence was both reassuring and oddly frightening. What was she so afraid of with him? She couldn’t figure it out. Still, she didn’t want to be anywhere but here with him.

  He chose a piece of equipment, set his black bag of rope on the floor.

  “Ava, down on your knees now while I set up.” A simple command, but it went through her like a jolt of electricity. She sank to her knees. She couldn’t have done otherwise, her legs were so weak. And as soon as her knees hit the floor, she folded her hands in her lap, bowed her head, and let herself fall into that quiet place in her mind, her head buzzing.

  Lovely.

  Even better when she heard Desmond murmur “Perfect” as he stroked a hand over her hair.

  Heat flashed between her thighs, and she had to bite back a groan. This was what she strived for. This was exactly what she wanted. Needed.

  Trembling, she watched him from beneath her lowered eyelids, not really able to see too much higher than his waist. But she could see he was laying out the rope, some of it black, some of it red. And in her head the switches were flipping at an alarming rate, her mind emptying of rational thought.

  Don’t fight it.

  No, this was what she wanted. And she knew in some certain and inescapable way that Desmond could take her further than she’d ever been.

  She had no idea how long she was there before she felt his hand taking hers, helping her rise to her feet. He pulled her in close; she could feel the heat of his tall, lean body against hers. Too good.

  “I’m going to undress you now, Ava.”

  And he did just that, unzipping her dress and pulling it from her with unexpectedly gentle hands while she stood, shivering with need.

  “Hold perfectly still,” he said, his voice an authoritative whisper against her cheek.

  He ran his hands lightly over her lace-covered breasts, and it was all she could do not to surge into his touch. Then he slipped her bra off, bringing his hands back to her breasts. His touch was so gentle she thought she’d lose her mind as he brushed his fingertips over her aching flesh.

  Please, touch me.

  But she couldn’t say the words out loud, couldn’t have spoken at all. She was soaking wet already, needing his hands on her, needing some sort of brutality from him for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself. But he kept up that soft stroking. She really was going to lose her mind.

  When he gathered her breasts in his hands, sweeping his thumbs over her hard nipples, she moaned, her breath leaving her in a sharp, panting gasp.

  “Ah, that’s good, Ava. Beautiful. Off with these, now.”

  He moved his hands away, and she was empty, wanting, as he slid her damp lace panties over her legs, leaving her in nothing but her heels.

  “Such pretty legs in your sexy high-heeled shoes,” he said, running his hands over her thigh. “But they’ll only get in the way.”

  He bent and helped her step from her shoes, steadying her with a firm hand. And she was aching all over, her mind a blur of need and sensation.

  Really going to lose it the moment he puts the ropes on me.

  Oh, yes. But she wanted it so badly she could hardly wait.

  He led her to the bondage frame, stood behind her, and held her with one arm tight around her waist. His fingertips absolutely burned into her bare flesh.

  His face was against hers, his cheek resting on her own. “I’m going to bind you, Ava. And you’re going to do the breathing we’ve talked about. I want you to be in the moment. To slide into subspace, but you must keep part of yourself here with me, tuned in to what’s happening. Do you understand?”

  “Yes … I understand.”

  “I’ll be right here with you. Guiding you.” He paused, ran a hand over her hair. “Give it all over to me, Ava. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you, tonight?”

  “Yes, Desmond. Yes!”

  God, she wanted nothing more than to let it all go, to turn herself over to him. Into his hands.

  His hands.

  “You can do it, Ava. You will do it, for me.” He stroked her cheek, making her tremble. “And I want to do this for you,” he told her, his voice a rough whisper.

  So sweet. So tender. Why did it make her want to cry?

  “Come on, now, take a breath.”

  Desmond laid a hand on her chest, just above the rise of her breasts. His palm was warm. And as much as his every touch, even his voice, caused surges of desire to shimmer through her in long, lovely waves, his hand on her body was reassuring, calming.

  She followed his voice as he instructed her to breathe, and soon her body was emptying of all weight, filling up with light, and she floated with him, her limbs going loose.

  “Time to tie you up, Ava.”

  Oh, yes …

  He left her for a moment, came back quickly, his hands on her, the rope slipping across her skin. And it was all a blur of sensation as the ropes lashed softly over her flesh, his low voice whispering encouragement as he bound her torso in a full harness. She wanted to see it, what she looked like with the crisscross patterns the ropes made against her flesh: across her shoulders and back, over and under her breasts, across her belly, and finally threaded between her thighs, where two lengths of the soft rope ran over her aching sex. But it was so good just to feel it, that sense of being bound. Safe. She sank deeper, her mind really going blank of everything but the feel of the ropes, his voice, the increasing sensation of being restrained as he tightened the coils around her body.

  Time was lost as the ropes were pulled tighter, holding her up. When he drew her arms behind her and bound them in a tight coil that ran from her wrists to her elbows, she felt a stirring sense of completion, of truly giving herself over to him. And the familiar switch flipped in her head, opening her up inside until she was raw and aching. Entirely vulnerable. And so full of wanting she could hardly stand it.

  She wanted to cry again. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to belong to him.

  Oh, yes, to be his …

  “Beautiful,” Desmond said quietly. “So damn beautiful, Ava.” She could feel his body close to hers, the cotton of hi
s shirt against the tips of her breasts as he moved in closer.

  “Where are you, Ava?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you? Are you right here with me?”

  He took her chin in his hand, forcing her gaze to his. His eyes were dark, burning. She shivered at the intensity there, at the way it broke through even the haze of subspace.

  God, to have him touch her! To be in the ropes for him. And she wasn’t even certain what the tears beginning to brim in her eyes were about, except that she wanted this so much. That it was really happening, finally. And she was grateful and afraid and still willing to go there with him.

  “Do you see the people, my beautiful Ava? Do you see how they watch you? Admire you? Want you.”

  She blinked, saw the group standing around them. A dozen pairs of eyes on her. Her body surged with lust. With pride. She felt utterly beautiful. Desired.

  “Yes, Desmond,” she whispered. “I see them.” She brought her gaze back to his, held it. “But mostly I see you.”

  “Ah, Ava. You are so damn perfect.”

  A wash of pleasure, of keen desire, simply knowing she pleased him. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, and her body tried to bow toward his, but the ropes held her fast, making her burn even more.

  Yes, kiss me. Touch me.

  He opened her lips with his, slipped his tongue inside, hot and sweet, and she moaned into his kiss.

  He pressed deeper, his hands going around her waist, immobilizing her even further. Her head was spinning. And she was exactly as he’d wanted her, lost in the meditative trance of subspace yet right there with him: his hands, his mouth, his earthy scent. And the sweet knowledge that she was, at that moment, his.

  Desmond’s hand slid lower, between the lengths of rope wrapped around her body, between her thighs. His fingers parted the ropes pressing against her sex. And she was aching, needy, his fingers sliding into that wet, waiting heat, making her gasp.

  “Ah!”

  “Yes, you need it, don’t you, Ava? I need it, too. I need you. To touch you. To make you come. To have you. And I will. But first, come for me. Come for your admirers. Look at them. They’re adoring you, as I am.”

  Another brief glance through her fluttering lashes at those watching her.

  Yes, for him. For them.

  Then his hand was working between her thighs, his fingers plunging inside her, his thumb pressing onto her swollen clitoris. Sensation filled her, flooded her, desire building, making her go tight all over. Tight within the ropes, her clit, her nipples, throbbing and hard.

  “I’m going deeper, Ava.”

  And he did, his fingers pushing into her sex, thrusting. Desire was a tide, hot and powerful. Her hips arched into his hand, wanting more. And he gave her more, plunging into her soaking-wet sex, faster and harder.

  “Oh, please …”

  “Please what?”

  “Please let me come, Desmond.”

  “Come then, Ava. Come on.”

  Her body clenched as pleasure washed over her, surged, shafting deep inside her. She felt her sex grabbing around his thrusting fingers, desire pulsing, harder and harder, until she didn’t think she could take it any longer.

  “Desmond!”

  It went on and on, her body shaking as the force of her climax pounded through her, drowning her.

  “I have you, baby. I have you.”

  His arms tightened around her as she sagged into the ropes, all strength gone. Her body was still pulsing, small, orgasmic waves flowing, receding.

  “That was perfect, my beautiful Ava,” Desmond whispered into her hair.

  Perfect. Yes, that was all she wanted: to be perfect, for him. His words still buzzing in her ears, she felt her body go limp as she let herself fall into his embrace.

  Chapter Eight

  HOURS PASSED, or so it seemed, with Desmond whispering to her, taking her through the breathing, checking the ropes. Holding her, bound so tightly she couldn’t move, in his arms as the room, the people, faded into nonexistence. Her mind had been everywhere, floating through past and present. And she had sunk deeper and deeper, her body, her mind, releasing a little at a time, until finally she had felt that lovely sensation of letting it all go and simply being. She had no idea it would feel so good.

  Her mind finally reconnected with the earth as though she was waking from a dream, with the sensation of Desmond holding her body firmly against his as he began to release her from the ropes.

  It was a slow and sensual process, as everything had been with him, and then she was in his arms. He took her to one of the small sofas, laid her across his lap. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, loving the solid strength of him, his hands in her hair, on her cheeks. There was something quietly lovely about the way he was touching her, talking to her in hushed tones. She didn’t know what he was saying to her. It didn’t matter. What mattered was being there with him like this, the connection she felt between them.

  Was she only imagining it? She couldn’t figure it out now. She was too limp, too loose. And still buzzing with desire.

  She squirmed in his lap, the hard ridge of his erection pushing against the soft flesh of her buttocks. Oh, she wanted him.

  He stroked her cheek, his hand falling lower to caress her breast. Her nipples went hard as she pressed into his hand, moaning softly.

  His voice was low, rough with desire. “I need you, Ava. Need to be inside you.”

  “Yes, please …”

  He lifted her, carrying her in his arms to a small curtained alcove, one of several that surrounded the playrooms at the club. He laid her down on the high, iron four-poster bed, and she held perfectly still as she watched him strip his shirt off. His shoulders were broad, his skin pale but beautifully so. And his nipples were dark against the light sprinkling of hair across his chest. She wanted to reach out, touch them, take them one by one into her mouth. But she couldn’t move.

  His slacks came next, and in moments he stood naked over her, his cock erect, beautiful.

  He was watching her, his gaze intent on hers, as he spread her thighs. He sheathed himself in a condom pulled from a small shelf next to the bed, and as the latex rolled down the length of his shaft she could see how rock-hard he was. Then he moved between her legs, slipped his hands under her buttocks, and in one smooth thrust he was inside her.

  She cried out, her body taking him in, trembling with pleasure. And his green gaze never left hers.

  When he began to move, his hands hard on her flesh, possessing her, she could barely breathe. Pleasure, intense, sharp, knifing into her body with every hard thrust of his hips, his cock driving into her.

  “Desmond!”

  “Yes …”

  He was panting now, and she could see it all in his eyes. They were blazing, seeming to reach inside her. To see her in some new way.

  “I need you, Desmond …”

  What was she trying to tell him? She didn’t quite know herself. All she knew was that sense of desperation for him to know her yearning.

  “I have you, Ava.” He plunged deeper, his cock moving inside her as his hand went into her hair, gripping hard. “Yes. Have me … yes …”

  One arm slid around her waist as he held her tighter. “You’re mine, Ava. Mine.”

  Those dark green eyes, gleaming in the dim light. Beautiful. And his rigid, plunging cock, his hands on her, making her body burn.

  Desire was peaking again, her sex pulsing, hot, tightening around his solid shaft. He drove deeper, and now she could hear his panting breath, could feel it warm and sweet on her face. And still his gaze never left hers, his face an expression of exquisite need, the same need she felt herself.

  “You are mine, Ava,” he said again, thrusting savagely, filling her, owning her.

  Her ears were roaring with a pure, white heat, and when her climax hit her, it was like a wall coming down on her: heavy, overpowering. And she was drowning again, in pleasure, in the green fire of Desmond’s eyes, in h
is groans of pleasure as he came inside her.

  “Ava!”

  His hips ground into hers, hurting her. But all she wanted was to be as close to him as possible, her body still shuddering, clenching.

  She could feel his cock still pulsing inside her, a steady beat of pleasure, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight, burying his face in her hair.

  Her heart was beating wildly, driven by some emotion she didn’t understand. How could she feel so much with this man she’d just met? She hardly knew him.

  But that was a lie. They knew each other in some deep and inexplicable way. Impossible. But true. Where he had taken her tonight, what he had given her, had shown her that.

  Desmond was opening her up already. And it was beautiful and terrifying.

  Her eyes welled, and she bit her lip.

  Don’t do it.

  But she couldn’t help it, the tears spilled, slid down her cheeks.

  “Ava?” Desmond lifted her head, brushed her hair from her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. She was desperate to stop crying. He sat up, taking her with him, holding her close. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine. I just … I don’t know.”

  “You’re crashing.”

  “Yes.”

  He was right; that’s all it was. That feeling of being lost and scared, too vulnerable, that many submissives experienced after they played. Most often it was hard pain play that caused it. But for her it was being given exactly what she’d wanted, what she’d asked for. It was overwhelming, nearly unbelievable. And she was so full of gratitude and longing and some strange sort of guilt she could barely comprehend.

  Stop it!

  But she couldn’t. The tears kept coming. Desmond held her tighter.

  “It’ll be alright, Ava. Come on, now. You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m here with you.”

  Yes, he was there with her. But for how long?

  She buried her face in his shoulder, willed the tears to stop. She took a breath, held it, steeling herself, and finally the tears did stop. But her heart was still flailing in her chest. She was still in a panic.