by Kira Barker
“Okay,” I replied, then tried to catch a glimpse of where we would be spending some quality time together soon. Above the heads of people I didn’t see too much, but the thick, sturdy frame made out of dark wood pretty much towered over everything, easily seen from every point of the room.
“Bondage frame, naturally,” I observed. When Simon eyed me askance, I shrugged. “You keep mentioning that thing. I’m not completely deaf even when I’m slobbering over your floggers and canes. Figures that if you have the choice of using anything in here, it would be a setup you don’t already have at home.”
“Meet me there when you’re done,” he told me, and pushed me toward the doors.
“Will do,” I promised, biting my bottom lip and blinking coyly at him. “Sir.”
Simon rewarded me with that special, long-suffering sigh of his that usually started off a scene that ended with me screaming my head off—only in the best of ways, of course—and made another shooing motion. So off I went, my stomach churning and my legs just a little shaky, and this time the abysmally high heels weren’t responsible for that.
Chapter 6
I didn’t exactly have a freak-out sitting on the toilet, but there was some bending over with my head between my knees and rapid breathing going on. The thought occurred to me that I really was responsible for my own doom—which was pretty much what Beth had meant with her parting remark. I doubted that all these meek, perfect subs ever maneuvered themselves into the situations I ended up in. But as I mulled that over, I realized that just like they would likely not want to trade places with me, I didn’t want to assume their role, either. I probably should have, but just to myself I could admit that our playful, somewhat loaded banter was as much foreplay to me as gentle caresses and sweet, whispered words. Although, come to think of it, with the mood I was in right now, I’d rather take that as a strong hand wrenching my head back, gripping my hair painfully, and getting called all kinds of names. The underlying sentiment and intent remained the same, anyway.
If anyone had noticed that I spent some extra time in my stall, they didn’t mention it to me, although there were two women waiting in line. I was still a little puzzled over that as I washed my hands, then realized that if someone actually had to take an enema, the waiting time would be much longer than my five-minute meditative mini-meltdown. There was clearly a good reason for why there were three stalls in here for a venue not that huge.
Taking a deep, calming breath as I washed my hands in the sink—maybe a little extra long as I was still stalling, but by far not as thoroughly as I was used to from pre-op procedures—I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Yep, my eyes were definitely wide and had a somewhat crazed look to them, but I wasn’t half as white in the face as I’d expected. No red patches of embarrassment, either—yet. I idly wondered if I looked like someone ready to get naked in front of a hundred people, but, again, how did someone with an underlying, slightly exhibitionistic streak look? Compared to the girl lounging next to me, wearing nothing but a thong and some kind of leather bra contraption that barely framed her tits and did absolutely nothing to hide them, I couldn’t help but feel a little like a prude.
Making my way back through the crowds, I paused at the doors a last time looking around for Jack, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Either he had stepped out for a moment or abandoned the venue entirely, or he was back in the main room, getting ready to watch us. I really didn’t know what to make of that. It should have felt supportive, kind of, to know that there was at least one familiar pair of eyes in that anonymous crowd. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been spying on us before, although I hadn’t been aware of that back then. But somehow that thought unnerved me rather than calmed me. Likely because I kind of hated for him to feel left out—but then he should have thought of that when he asked to come here with us in the first place, right?
Doing my best to shake off that unease, I squared my shoulders and walked into the room, using the height of my heels only partly as an excuse to walk slowly.
I knew that it could only be my perception, but as I made my way to the back of the room, I felt as if the crowds were parting around me, everyone staring at me as I passed. There was really nothing remarkable about me that should have prompted anyone to look, but I felt their eyes burning holes into my back. By the time I finally reached my destination, my skin was crawling, and the urge to physically hide behind Simon was almost strong enough to make me speak up.
He had been talking to another guy, likely the one who had been using the equipment before us, judging from the similarly black gym bag sitting next to him on the floor—had they all ordered them in bulk and then distributed them?—but as he saw me advance, he briefly shook the man’s hand, then turned to me. I knew that one look at me was enough for Simon to see right through the brave face I was trying to put on, but except for a slightly amused curl to his lip, he didn’t react.
“Ready?” he asked, the single word turning into a loaded question in my head.
Glancing around, I couldn’t help but shiver whenever my eyes fell on anyone, but right now they were all industriously studying anything but me, as if to prove my paranoia wrong. My gaze snatched to the bondage frame because it was so much easier to concentrate on the equipment.
It didn’t look like it was assembly-line ware, but definitely “custom made” rather than crappy do-it-yourself. The frame was tall enough that even in heels, I wouldn’t be able to reach the upper part of it. The whole inverted U-shaped contraption was made out of massive wood and rested on a similarly sturdy platform it was anchored to. There was a multitude of attachment points all over the frame, both for rope and snap hooks. It was wide enough that it likely took two people, each touching one side, to span the gap in the middle. Compared to some of the other furniture I’d glimpsed down here, it should have been about as non-threatening as these things went, but the idea that in a few minutes from now I would find myself somehow tied to or between those sturdy beams, visible from all sides, made my courage dwindle until it was only a small, quivering puddle at the bottom of my soul.
“Sure, why not?” I replied, or tried to, but my voice was so thin that I barely heard the words leave my lips.
Simon gave me another meaningful look, and while he didn’t say so out loud, I knew what he was telling me with his eyes—I just had to say “no,” and we could easily postpone this for another time. But as much as part of me wanted to jump at that opportunity to back out, I made myself square my shoulders and stomp down hard on that temptation. It wasn’t like I could embarrass myself mortally in front of everyone, or something.
Heat surged into my cheeks and made my muscles go weak, but when Simon held his hand out to me to help me with that one step up onto the platform, I didn’t hesitate to take it, although I might have squeezed his fingers extra tight. He squeezed right back, his grasp firm and warm and supportive, then pulled me up with enough force to make me stagger against his body once we were both elevated on the platform. His arm came around me, holding me close, while his gaze bored into mine, making me feel completely bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothes.
“Trust me?”
My nerves were so tightly strung that it was impossible for me to remain completely still, but I didn’t hesitate as I nodded.
“Absolutely. But—“
“No ‘buts,’” he said, laying one finger across my lips to silence me. His mouth curved up into a smile, and I loved how devious it was. “Close your eyes.”
Swallowing thickly, I did as he bid me, feeling him slip a blindfold over my head. Not just a flimsy bit of fabric that would hardly dim the light, but a thick, padded leather blindfold that molded itself to my face, the soft fleece lining casting me into complete darkness even when I opened my eyes again.
“Open your mouth,” he told me next, and I obeyed, the flutter in my stomach increasing. I knew what was coming next—or thought I did, except that I felt him hold my chin with one hand, then he leaned in and kissed me, slow and de
ep. He left me gasping for breath, my head spinning with confusion—until he pushed the ball gag into my mouth, securing the straps at the back of my neck. So much for predictability.
“See? I can’t expect you to beg like a meek little slave when you can’t talk,” he murmured, then laughed, the sound laced with a slightly evil note. “Well, I could, of course, but I think that defeats the purpose of what I have in mind tonight. No, instead of begging for release, I want you to just let go and come—no holding back, no hiding or cringing. So that when they hear you scream and see you writhe, they know, just as you do, that you’re under my complete control.”
A shudder ran through my body at his words, and I felt my nipples harden painfully against the soft fabric of my bra. I needed his hands on me so fucking badly, lust chasing away my apprehension.
Simon stepped away from me, the sensation of his body heat leaving me stark now that I had lost the ability to visually track his movements. The platform groaned softly underneath him as he shifted his weight, giving me a good approximation that he was still hovering just out of my reach.
“Strip.”
My mind wanted to balk, but I swallowed the impulse to resist, seeing as it was just normal stage fright. With his spoken promise still echoing in my mind, I actually felt myself want to follow along, also because he couldn’t do half the things I wanted him to as long as I had clothes on.
My fingers still shook as I started to fumble with the buttons on my blouse, my skin feeling on fire as more and more air met the now-exposed areas as I pulled the fabric apart. Not knowing what to do with it as soon as I’d pulled my arms free, I held it out in his general direction, and a light tug on the fabric had me let go. My bra was next, and after giving that up, I quickly unzipped my skirt to keep from trying to cover my tits, as if that made any sense. I felt him move close as soon as the fabric slithered down my thighs, and he gently took first one leg, then the other and guided the discarded skirt out from underneath me. I briefly felt his breath against the outside of my thigh as he straightened, just his general vicinity to my pussy making me want to rub my thighs together.
“Heels stay on,” he informed me, then took my hand and pulled me forward slowly. I staggered, immediately righting myself when he was suddenly there, ready to catch me. I silently cursed myself for my clumsiness, but he just kept leading me forward, murmuring a soft, “Easy there,” under his breath.
Then he stopped and let go, making me straighten, my heart hammering in my throat. I knew that I had to be standing underneath the arch of the frame now from where I’d started out, but the blindfold completely disoriented me, and the soundscape in the room was too homogenous to make much sense of it. There was the hum of conversation, interspersed with the occasional laugh or louder remark, then something that sounded suspiciously like a loud slap, followed by a high, feminine moan. But none of that let me pinpoint if I was looking out over the room or facing the wall that began a few feet from the platform. It should have been the same whether the world was staring at my ass or my tits, but somehow it mattered—and I had absolutely no way of finding out, and even moments into the scene, I already felt that start to drive me crazy.
“Hands,” Simon said, and I immediately offered him my wrists, arms extended in front of my body. He loved his restraints, as did I, and I had to smile when I realized that it had become kind of a ritual that he’d start with something like this. Still didn’t tell me shit about my orientation, but as I felt him tie hemp rope around my wrists, going back and forth several times until the thusly created manacles sat snug but not digging into my skin, I let myself relax. This could have been anywhere, really. Maybe if I just told myself that we were up in the attic…
Someone coughed, then loudly cleared her throat what I guessed was maybe five feet away from—and right in front of!—me, immediately destroying that illusion. Oh, they were there, watching me, right there, and there was no way that I could ignore that.
“Spread your legs.”
I took a tentative step to the side with my right foot, then shifted my balance and did the same with the left, feeling air rush in between my thighs and hit my wet—and now terribly exposed—pussy. Shivering, I tried not to let that knowledge get to me, but then I felt his warm hand on the inside of my thigh, pushing to indicate that I should spread my legs wider, and I couldn’t fight the heat surging into my cheeks as I shuffled around a little more. His hand never left my leg; he was busy tying more rope around my thigh, a few inches above the knee, then the same at the other side. At least with my arms still in front of me, it was easy to hold my balance, and the position kind of hid my breasts from view as well, which suddenly meant the world to me.
Of course that was the next thing he took from me as he guided my arms to my sides, then told me to raise them.
I tried to remain calm, but every breath I took seemed to come quicker than the last but never managed to draw enough oxygen into my lungs. I almost yipped when I felt him attach the rope leading from my left wrist to somewhere above me and to the side, then kept pulling on the one attached to my other hand until my arms were completely extended. The same happened with the restraints on my legs, only that I felt that the attachment points for those must have been somewhere around knee level. He forced me into a position where my legs were spread as comfortably wide as the damned shoes would let me, which came with exactly one benefit—I didn’t need to keep my balance anymore because the ties took that over for me. I could still shift one foot or the other a little, but I was sure that if I leaned back, the restraints would easily keep me up and standing.
All out in the open. Spread. Exposed. With no chance at all to hide or protect any part of my body, everything on full display.
My pulse was thundering in my ears, drowning out any other noise until there was just that fast, rhythmic whooshing sound, my mind and body alight as if connected to an electric wire. And then I felt panic slam into me, clenching around my heart, seizing my throat, locking up my muscles and making every panted breath almost impossible. I knew that Simon was still standing right next to where he’d tied my second leg off, but suddenly I was all alone, alone, ALONE!
My safeword. I had to use it. I couldn’t do this. I knew that it was silly and without logic, but I just couldn’t do this, I was going to—
“Shhh,” he whispered in my ear, suddenly in front of me, the cotton of his shirt soft against my belly, the leather of his pants warm against my leg. “Calm down. You’re completely safe. Nothing can happen to you. You can’t fall, you can’t twist a joint, and I have the safety scissors in my back pocket so I can cut you loose in under twenty seconds. Just listen to my voice and relax.”
It was less his words—I knew all that by myself, although I wasn’t that sure about the joints… if I wrenched my body around enough I might manage to damage my hip… maybe—and more his soothing voice that helped me mentally step away from the cliff and take a next, slightly less frantic, breath.
“Just like that… let go,” he went on, then reached up to cup my face with his hands. I couldn’t see him, of course, but I felt him lean close, his nose briefly rubbing over my cheek. “If you really want to, we can stop at any time. No one will think you’re weak. We’ve all been there, once or twice or a million times in our lives. Everyone around you admires your courage for coming here and standing in front of them, beautiful and strong as a goddess in her own right. You are doing great; you know that. You just need to relax and stop worrying. Just hand over the reins and let me lead you.”
Taking another few heaving breaths around the ball gag in my mouth—breathing through my nose wasn’t exactly feasible right now—I nodded, and the next time I exhaled, I felt some of the tension drain from my body. There was still enough that I would have jumped at the smallest sound if that had been possible, but my thoughts slowly aligned themselves again, letting me think clearly.
“Better?” he asked, still low enough that no one except him and me could hear.
&
nbsp; I nodded, feeling just a little self-conscious as I felt a dribble of spit make its way down my chin. Simon wiped it away with his thumb, then pressed the lightest of kisses onto my nose.
“Ready to do this?”
I nodded again, drawing a shaky breath into my body that felt weirdly final. Yes, I was ready, or as ready as I would ever get. At least the dwindling panic left me feeling just a little less concerned about the image I must have been presenting.
“Good,” Simon murmured and stepped away, the sounds of the creaking boards letting me follow his path around my front and somewhere to the side, where I remembered he’d stashed his bag. He returned after a few seconds, stepping up to my back. “Something is still missing,” he mused, standing close enough that his breath stirred the hair above my ear. “Ah, right. I don’t want you to hide your face against your shoulder. You do that when you come.”
I felt him reach around me, and suddenly something supple and firm was pressing against my neck, forcing my chin up. With a thrill of excitement I realized that it was a thick leather collar that he was now buckling at the back of my neck, snug against my skin. It was wide enough that if I didn’t stretch my neck, it was pressing either against my jaw or collar bones, and, true enough, turning my head experimentally once it was firmly in place was rather bothersome.
“I haven’t used a collar on you before,” he remarked conversationally, his fingers trailing along the upper edge from below my ear to my jaw. “An oversight I thought warranted rectifying.”
I didn’t know what to make of the collar. It felt way more restrictive than a little leather that wasn’t even restraining anything should have felt, but it was like a heavy, yet not worrying, burden around my neck. With a flutter of excitement in my belly, I realized that it made me feel just a little less like a fake; at least I must have looked the part of the perfect submissive now. And it wasn’t like he was leaving me any room to act out of place, I realized.
