Dangerously Bound

by Eden Bradley

  Allie fumbled in her purse for a moment, found her ID and passed it to Pixie, who disappeared through a door for a few moments, then gave it back to her.

  “Enjoy your evening. Cell phones off, dears.”

  “Of course, Pixie,” Mick said, pulling his out of his pocket and smiling at the tiny woman as he shut it off. “Allie, give me yours.”

  She handed it to him, and he powered it down before returning it to her.

  A small part of her mind was screaming at her that she wasn’t behaving normally, and another part was reminding her this was the way things happened when a Dom shows up at your house and practically brings you to your knees before taking you to a haven for kinky people who were just like you were, even in all the myriad variety of kinks and personalities. She breathed a long, sweet sigh of relief as Mick took her through a door and into the club.

  The lighting was dim, shades of red and purple, with a few spots of soft amber gleaming from the lamps set here and there at the cleaning stations, supplied with bottles of antibacterial spray and paper towels, small first-aid kits and bottled water. But she could see that inside The Bastille looked like anything but a warehouse. The walls were finished in a highly lacquered black, with heavy wooden posts polished to a high sheen every few feet. She could see the eyebolts, some with the occasional lengths of chain attached, set into the wood. Placed around the edges of the room were couches and chairs and ottomans upholstered in red velvet, large tables in carved wood, everything oversized and luxurious and slightly ornate in what she thought of as Bohemian gypsy style. Here and there, high on the walls, were paintings of naked women in seductive and often wanton poses, some bound in rope or chains or leather straps, corseted or cuffed. There were people in the room in the same state of undress, many bound, corseted. Wanton.

  She immediately felt a sense of home.

  Beside her Mick whispered in her ear, “What do you think of our little club?”

  “It’s beautiful. And it’s not little at all.”

  “There are private and semiprivate rooms, the themed rooms. The school room. The Victorian boudoir. The medieval torture chamber. The medical room. Do you see the curtained areas off to the sides? Those are aftercare rooms, full of pillows. And in the back there’s the kitchen and an outdoor patio. But I’ll give you the tour another time. I don’t want to break this space inside your head too much. I like where you’re at.”

  She turned to him. “Do you?”

  He stroked the underside of her chin with his finger. “I do. I think we’re going to play very well together. Come.”

  He took her hand and led her across the floor of the main room. The music was a low throb of ambient tones as they passed a row of spanking benches: two floating, padded tables suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains. They moved past an enormous wooden frame in the middle of the room. A woman was bound in heavy leather cuffs, her arms stretched over her head and attached to the frame by carabiners clipped to hooks set into the wood. She wondered vaguely where he might be taking her, but that sinking sensation was beginning to ground her in the moment, in her body, and she was content for now to simply follow him.

  They reached the back of the room, where long couches and a few overstuffed chairs made cozy conversation areas. He stopped in front of one of the couches, set his play bag down on a table, nodded at her, a sharp lift of his chin that made her focus on the chiseled edges of his features, all pure masculine man.

  “Down on the floor, Allie. On your knees. And wait for me.” He turned away to unzip his bag.

  “I . . . what?”

  He turned back to her, his gaze narrowing. “This is standard drill, Allie. I thought you were an experienced submissive,” he said, doubt lacing his tone.

  “I am.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “I just . . .” She had to pause, catch her breath. “It’s because it’s you. Well, you and me. I guess I thought . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  “You thought what? That because it’s us things would happen differently than they would with any other play partners we may have had? That I’d handle you with kid gloves because of our history, despite the things you and Jamie have told me about your experience in the scene? Despite our negotiations?”

  There was an edge to his voice she found a little frightening, yet at the same time knowing he was the full-on Dom with her was reassuring—that he wouldn’t cut her any slack he shouldn’t in these circumstances.

  Remember who you’re dealing with. Remember this is what you’ve always wanted.

  “No. No. I’m just . . . making a mental adjustment, I guess.”

  “Well, make it fast, girl, because if you’re not down on your knees in about ten seconds I’m putting you there myself.”

  Really love to have him do just that to me.

  She almost groaned aloud. But she wasn’t going to give him that. Not yet.

  She sank to her knees on the Persian carpet in front of the sofa, her gaze on his as he watched her, trying to assess his response. Was he pleased with her? Or was he still so pissed that she’d forced his hand in the situation that she’d have to really stretch herself to satisfy him? To make him see she could be the perfect submissive for him. That she could be perfect for him.

  She sank back on her heels and clasped her hands behind her back. Waited.

  “Eyes on the floor,” he said gruffly before turning back to his big black bag as if nothing had happened, as if their little exchange hadn’t left her heart slamming into her ribs.

  She tried to breathe as she’d been taught—in, exhaling slowly through her mouth, concentrating on telling her limbs to relax. Soon it was working and she was able to spread her focus to the sounds around her: the dungeon music, the moans and cries of the others being played, a little laughter from somewhere, the lovely sound of a leather flogger hitting flesh.

  She’d always loved that sound, the simple knowledge of what it meant. It made her want to feel it herself. To smell the leather. She inhaled, letting the scents of leather and anticipation sit in her lungs—and gasped when his fingers sank into her hair and pulled. Pulled her hair back unto she was forced to meet his gaze.

  He bent low over her, brought his mouth almost to hers and whispered, “I thought you could do it, Allie. After we talked I had a pretty good idea that you really could submit. But seeing you down on your knees tells me everything I need to know. For the moment, anyway. We’ll have to see what else you know, what else you can do. But this trick . . . oh, yeah, you have this one down.”

  She didn’t dare say anything. He was all Dom right then, and she didn’t want him to be anything else. His hand gripping her hair, his imposing presence, his whispered threats and words of encouragement, were making her shivery all over. Wet between her thighs.

  “Arms up while I get you undressed,” he ordered.

  She raised her arms high, let him pull the dress over her head, leaving her in her scant black mesh lingerie and her heels.

  “Very nice,” he murmured, moving behind her and reaching out to sweep her hair aside. “I’m going to start with your hair.”

  “What? My hair?”

  “Is this an argument?”

  She swallowed. “I . . . no.”

  “Then quiet now.”

  He swept her hair back from her face with both hands, and began to work some slender rope into it. She’d had this done before—had her hair bound into a sort of ponytail of corset lacing. She didn’t know what had surprised her into speaking out a moment before. In a few minutes he was done. He swung her bound hair over her shoulder, then drew one finger slowly down the back of her neck, sending a trembling warmth down her spine. She tried to curve into his touch, but he stilled her with a palm flat between her shoulder blades, pressing just enough to make her feel it. Strength. Command.<
br />
  “Oh no you don’t, my girl. You move when I tell you to. Right now you are to be my toy to play with. Mine to move and shift around as I please. And I will please. Know that. Know it’s coming. That you are. Eventually.” He moved around her, tracing the line of her jaw, the side of her neck, over her collarbone, down the side of her breast, making her ache. “But now . . . now I’m going to sit down here on this couch and relax for a few minutes and just watch you. I want you to hold very, very still. Can you do that for me? Don’t speak—nod yes if you think you can without me binding you yet.”

  Oh, Jesus! He was going to make her lose her mind. But she found herself nodding her chin.

  “Good girl.”

  Heat shot through her system.

  From the corner of her downturned eye she saw his booted foot as he settled onto the furniture. She swore she could feel him watching her, as if his hand were still on her bare skin.

  “I think I’d like it better with your hands clasped behind your neck.”

  “Mick . . .” she whispered, her throat going tight, her body resisting being that vulnerable with him.

  “Allie, the correct answer is an immediate agreement to do as I ask you by simply doing it. Or the answer is no. I’m not going to play these games, which I believe I’ve already told you.”

  She drew in a deep breath. She wanted to comply. And she wanted to fight it. But the part that wanted—needed—to be taken over by him was winning as her muscles went loose at the tone of utterly inarguable dominance in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mick. I can do it. I will.”

  His voice softened, and she understood why he was such a good Dominant—he knew exactly when to be tough, and when to show tenderness. “Take a breath, then. And try it again. Yeah, that’s much better.”

  She knew being in that position arched her back, made her breasts stand higher. It made her feel as if she were on display. It made her feel more submissive.

  She waited. And waited. Until the waiting itself seemed almost unbearable, even more so because it was him. Hadn’t she already waited for Mick long enough? Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she swallowed them down. She would please him, damn it. Do as he said. Show him she knew what his game was all about, that she could play it, too.

  She had to calm down, to still herself for the ropes, his favorite form of play.

  She closed her eyes, pulled in a long breath.

  The rope slipped around her wrist so fast she wasn’t even aware of it until he’d already pulled it tight and started to tie what felt like a quick half-hitch knot. Then another and another, until he’d made a brace of rope that covered her entire forearm. He dropped the end of the rope, and without breaking contact through one hand on her shoulder, he grabbed another piece and started on her other arm, then finished it off by tying her wrists together.

  She had a small moment of panic when she realized this was it—he’d effectively rendered her helpless in mere moments.

  “Flex your fingers for me,” he told her, and she did, knowing he was checking for circulation. “They feel okay? Good blood flow, still? You can answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, Mick.”

  “That’ll do for now. But it might be ‘Sir’ later. Be ready for it.”

  He slid a length of rope over her shoulders and let the ends fall down her back.

  “You particularly attached to this lingerie?” he asked her. “Shake your head yes or no.”

  She shook her head no, wondering what he was going to tie her up with that would damage the delicate material. But before she had time to really consider it she felt the cool touch of metal against her skin and glanced down to see him slipping a pair of safety scissors under the front band of her bra. She gasped as in one snip it fell open, and in two more the straps were cut and the remains of the filmy garment fell to the floor.

  She knew what was coming, but all the same it made her breath catch when he cut her underwear off her and pulled the fabric away, leaving her in nothing but a few feet of rope and her heels. But she was proud of her body—she only arched her back, raising her bare breasts higher.

  She heard a small chuckle from him. “Very good, princess. That’s exactly what I want to see. I can tell you like it, being naked, on your knees.” He leaned over her and fisted her bound hair in his hand once more, yanking hard, and she pulled in a sharp breath. His face was right next to hers, his cheek pressed against hers. He said quietly, “Now we’ll find out just how much you like this.”

  She closed her eyes as he pressed two fingers right into the damp heat between her thighs, sliding in her juices. Pleasure lanced into her.

  “Christ, you’re wet, baby. Do you know what that does to me? Entices the beast to come out of its cave. But we can’t have that. Not yet, that’s for sure. We’ll just have to do something about it.”

  He let her hair go, pulled his fingers from her, leaving her shivering with need and heat, and returned with more rope, which he laid on the floor next to her, coiled into bundles. With quick hands he began to fashion a harness around her breasts, the rope sliding and slinking over her skin like a snake, sending small vibrations through her system. She loved every moment of it—the sensation of being slowly decorated, of being rendered helpless, being in his hands.

  His hands.

  As he drew the ropes tighter around her breasts, one rope across the top, another beneath them, she felt the pressure, making them even more sensitive, the sinuous slide of the rope across her skin making her nipples hard. Making her shiver. He worked the rope between her breasts, making a series of knots in the center that pressed painfully against her ribs, but she loved it. Wanted it.

  He slid his hand under the rope there, pulled hard, pulling her up onto her knees. Ah, this was good, being handled this roughly. She didn’t dare look up at him, keeping her gaze on the floor. But oh, how she wanted to. Wanted to see that animal banked and burning in his gray gaze.

  “Very good,” he murmured. “I like seeing the rope on you, the way it presses into your flesh. What do you feel in them, Allie? Tell me.”

  “I feel . . .” She had to pause, to take in a breath, which was a bit harder to do with the chest harness in place, just as it was when she wore a corset. “I feel . . . as if I’m being held. Hugged. I feel . . . excited. And safe, somehow.”

  “You are made for this, Allie girl. Made for my ropes, aren’t you? Stay right there.”

  The ropes were sliding again as he worked them through the chest harness and down around her body—her ribs, her waist, across her back, and finally, between her legs. The rope slipped between her thighs, against her aching sex, and she almost cried out, her thighs shaking.

  He was quiet as he worked, but she could hear his breath, almost as heavy as her own, felt the pressure and easing of hands as he moved the rope, tied knots, stopped to pull on the harness for no other purpose than to make her feel commanded. To make them pull hard against her swollen clit, to tighten there until the rope sank painfully between her pussy lips.

  Oh, God, she loved it.

  When he tipped her over onto her side she didn’t protest, she just went down onto the floor, the rug a bit scratchy against her bare skin. He rolled her over onto her stomach with rough hands. She had always loved being manhandled a bit while in scene. But when he pulled her ankles up and she understood he meant to hog-tie her, something in her rebelled, her legs going stiff.

  He was on her in a moment, his knee in her back, one hand pulling her torso up off the floor by the ropes crossing between her shoulder blades. She felt utterly helpless, taken over, which was exactly what she wanted, yet was also what was making her panic now.

  “Allie, I’m going to give you a chance to tell me what this is about.”

  “I can’t
, Mick,” she started, but tears lodged in her throat and she had to stop.

  “You can’t what?”

  “I can’t be . . . humiliated. Not with you. Please don’t.”

  “This is not humiliation. This is beauty,” he said, his tone low, quiet. Reverential in a way she understood. In a way that calmed her instantly. He ran a hand over her spine between the ropes. “The graceful angles of the body. The level of submission it signals. Seeing the flesh bound in my ropes is pure art to me. Your flesh . . . well, I’ve been waiting a long time to do this, which I believe you already know. That’s . . . almost indescribable. So damn beautiful.”

  She felt her limbs loosen. His grip on her softened, and he let her back down onto the floor, where she turned her cheek, resting it on the wool rug.

  “You’re ready now,” he told her. Told, not asked. It didn’t matter. It was true.

  He drew her ankles up once more, wrapped them in the sensually sliding rope, making her acutely aware of the bones and flesh there, then he tied them off with a few knots. He slipped a length of rope under the knots between her ankles and led it to her body harness, where he worked it through the ropes across her back, and pulled on them until they drew her ankles up a bit more.

  She was truly helpless now, except for her safe words, of course. But she didn’t need them. Her head was sinking deeply into subspace, which she realized distantly she hadn’t quite expected without more pain play. The only pain was the slight throbbing of her bound breasts pressed against the carpet, her nipples grazing the wool, and the rope that pulled hard against her sex. But she was soaking wet.

  Mick’s big hand wrapped around her bound wrists, which were clasped behind her head. She heard the soft snick of moving rope as he bound the corset tie on her hair to her wrists. Then he pulled up, lifting her chest off the floor, raising her head with it.

  “Tell me that you’re doing okay, Allie.”

  “Yes. Yes,” she whispered.

  “Are the ropes too tight anywhere? Cutting off circulation? Pressing too hard into bone?”