Pretending to be something held little appeal. She wanted to be his submissive, and someday, maybe, something more. With Thomas, she’d been a wife, a friend, and a lover. His dying wish had been for her to find love again, and she wanted to respect his wishes, but also honor his memory.
Instead, she’d wallowed in grief. It had been five long years, and while she wasn’t ready to become another man’s wife, she wanted something to fill the aching loneliness in her heart. Thomas would always have a piece of it, but he’d loved her enough to let her go. She would honor that. It wasn’t like she was looking to put a ring on her finger with Derek either, but she certainly was looking for more.
He said this wasn’t fun and games, but until he proved himself—and she had no idea how that might happen—she had doubts. Tons of doubts.
She’d knelt for him. The ball was now in his hands. With no idea what he had planned, she couldn’t wait for him to stake his claim.
While he carried her deeper into the house, she ground against him and kissed his face. The one thing Derek did well was turn her on.
“Darling,” he said. “If you don’t let me see where I’m headed, I’m going to walk us into a wall.”
“Can’t we just stop here? You’re killing me.”
“Needy?” he quipped.
“Desperate,” she answered. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Because you’ve never been fucked by your Dom before.”
“This won’t be our first time.”
His eyebrow winged up. “You’ve never been fucked like this.”
With that, she grew still.
“I think my heart is going to explode,” she admitted.
“Oh, that’s not the only thing which will explode,” he said. “It’s time to fly, my little sub.”
“Mm, I like it when you call me that.”
“It has a nice ring. You’re mine, Miss Sally Levenson. All mine, and you’re going to learn what that means to me.”
He opened an unassuming door tucked beneath a staircase. A palm sensor activated a whirring of locks, then with a snick, the door popped open. He toed open the door and widened the opening with a shove of his shoulder.
With her legs wrapped around him, she had to twist her neck to see where he was headed. Polished wood steps angled down into darkness. Derek took the steps, unconcerned by the lack of light.
“Be careful,” she said, squeezing tight with her legs and tucking her head against his neck. If he stumbled, she didn’t want to watch them fall.
“Shh,” he soothed with a murmur. “It’s okay.”
Indeed, it was. Two steps into the darkness and his motion activated a light. A yellow pool of illumination lit up the steps. Five steps down, another light clicked on, as the one behind them turned off. They passed four more lights during their descent. Each one turned on as he approached while the one behind died out.
Darkness stretched out before them and behind as well. It felt as if they were leaving the world above and descending into something dark and ominous.
“Interesting,” she said. “Certainly sets a mood.”
“How else would you enter a dungeon?”
“I’d like to meet this friend of yours,” she said. “He seems to have a flair for theatrics.”
“Ha!” Derek said. “You have no idea.”
They reached a landing and another door. She clenched her thighs around his waist, trying to lift and shift a bit to twist around to see where he was taking her. Another palm lock greeted them here.
“He has a thing for security,” she said.
“The Cellar is not someplace we want anyone to wander into.”
“I doubt your guests will be checking out what’s beneath the stairs.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “While The Cellar doesn’t advertise its existence, word does get around.”
Like the door at the top of the stairs, this one opened itself. Derek nudged the opening wider, placing his palm against the door. He stepped into a long hall. Lights flickered on and bathed the hallway in a hot-white light. The lights stretched off into the distance. She cuddled close, loving his strength and being carried in his arms.
“It’s a private club?” she asked.
“More like a private dungeon Damien and I share with our friends. It’s invite-only.”
“You and Damien? I thought this was his place.”
“It is, and it’s not. Damien and I go way back; back to the beginning really. We knew each other when we were poor, starving, college kids.”
“Were you into all of this back then?”
Derek shared little of his past. While he’d asked tons of questions about hers: her job, her marriage, and the cancer which had taken Thomas from her life, she’d shied away from asking too many personal questions of him. He seemed to be opening up, and she took advantage of the opportunity to learn more. If he was to be her Dom, then she should know more about him.
“I don’t think I’ve never not been into it, to be honest,” he said. “My first time, I seem to recall spanking my girlfriend’s ass. I’ve always been dominant with sex. I suppose I’m used to controlling pretty much everything around me.”
“Did you know what all this was back then?”
The world of BDSM had been around forever, but only recently had mainstream society become familiar with the forbidden pleasures. She’d read that in Dominant Desires.
“I think I always knew what I craved was different. It had taken several years before I realized it was more normal than I thought. Unlike many others, I was fortunate to find a mentor.”
“Master Damien?”
“Damien! No, I’m the one who introduced him to all of this.”
“Oh,” she said. “So, you were first?”
“Very much, but Damien has certainly run with it. He’s fully embraced the lifestyle, and it infiltrates every part of his life. You’ve read him.”
“Read him?”
“Dominant Desires is his blog.”
“He’s Master D!”
“Yes,” Derek said.
“I thought it was your blog at first,” she tucked her chin, “but then I read about all the poly stuff and his lovers.”
“His Beta and Omega are his slaves. Those men are devoted to him, but they’re not his lovers. Damien doesn’t believe in love.”
“What does he believe in?”
“Devotion and service.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering if Derek believed the same. She didn’t want to be a tool, something to be used. Her heart was wired for love. Devotion and service might be a small part of that, but she needed to know he returned her affection.
“He crosses a lot of lines I will not,” Derek continued. “But don’t worry, Damien embraces the tenets of SSC and RACK with religious fervor.”
“RACK?” She scrunched her brow. “I know SSC, but what is RACK?”
“Risk-aware consensual kink. Most of the items on your red list are kinks of his. He rides the edge, but is one of the safest players I know.”
So caught up in the conversation, she hadn’t realized they’d exited the long hall. Derek carried her into a large space. A vaulted ceiling stretched above them. Arching overhead, intricate scrollwork wound up and around the many domes and arches. Massive pillars formed bases for each arch, separating the space into distinct, but open, flowing rooms.
The place smelled earthy and clean. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the warm scent. Coming down that long hall, the temperature had dipped, making the fine hairs on her arms lift with the chill, but in here there was a distinct temperature difference. Other than Derek’s steps, the place seemed devoid of sound, as if it muffled the outside world.
“Welcome to The Cellar,” Derek said.
“It’s breathtaking,” she replied. “I can see why it’s called a dungeon.”
He carried her past a long burnished wooden bar. Bottles of every size, shape, and color perched in front of the engr
aved mirrors forming the backsplash of the bar. Crystal glasses hung from racks, and several small refrigerators sported chilled wine, beer, and bottles of water behind their glass doors. Beyond the bar, a long, row of pegs lined the wall.
“That’s an odd coat rack,” she said. The pegs were barely four feet off the floor.
“That’s not a coat rack, my little sub.”
Scrunching her face, she tilted her head. “Then what is it?”
“It’s a place to park your slave.”
“What? How does that…oh.” She had to remind herself what kind of world this was she was joining. Collars and leashes would be common, which made the pegs places to secure the end of a leash. “Um, do the Doms…do they really park people there?”
“Yes, they do. That’s why it’s so close to the bar. You can park your slave while you sit for a drink. That way you can still watch them without having to constantly attend to them.”
“Hmm,” she said.
“You don’t like the sub-parking?”
“It’s a lot to wrap my head around.” Hopefully, that wasn’t something Derek was into. “So, subs and slaves aren’t allowed at the bar?”
“Oh, it depends. Subs and slaves have full access to the facilities down here, as long as granted permission by their Doms and Masters. They’re more likely to be at the feet of their dominant than sitting beside them, though. Most of the people who visit here go deep. This is a place to really sink into our roles.” He pointed at a circular set of couches. “That’s the submissives’ lounge. It’s a safe zone. Masters and Doms aren’t allowed inside.”
“Oh,” she said, thinking how repetitive she must sound.
He took her past the bar and beyond the submissives’ lounge, heading deeper into the dungeon. Pillars formed the corners of open rooms. Rods stretched between them, layers of gauzy fabric and deeper silk draping down to puddle on the floor.
“What are those?” she asked.
“We call them play-places. Everything in here is modular. You can pull in whatever equipment you want, or just group some couches and chairs together.”
Indeed there were couches and various chairs scattered about. “And the curtains close it off?”
“If desired,” he said. “To be honest, they stay open more often than not, but some people want privacy, or the illusion of it. The sheers give that, but people can still watch from outside. If you want to close off a space, we pull the blackout curtains closed.”
“And that’s what we’re going to do?”
She’d placed public sex on her yellow list. According to their agreement, Derek would decide whether to move it to red or green. Before making that decision, she hoped he allowed her to see how others managed their scenes. With everything she had read, this remained her biggest concern, and greatest question.
“Eventually,” he admitted, “but for our first time, we’ll head to the private rooms in the back.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said.
He shook his head. “Did you think I would expose you to that so soon?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.”
“Why didn’t you mark that as red?”
“I got the feeling you liked it, and I didn’t want to take that away.”
“Love,” he said, “your limits are yours, not what you think mine may or may not be. If you’re not comfortable with sex in public, then let’s move that to the appropriate list.”
She bit at her lower lip, then released it. That was a habit she intended to break. With a shake of her head, she responded. “Leave it at yellow,” she said.
“Tell me why?”
“It’s not something I would never do, just something I’m not comfortable doing. I really thought hard about the stuff I put in red. I don’t want to limit us too much. Besides, you said you’d decide. I’m trusting you to know. I’m not comfortable with that, but it doesn’t mean, I’m not willing for you to push.”
“Do you like being forced to do things?”
“I have no idea what I like or don’t like.”
“I’ve been relatively gentle with you so far. It’s a serious question and not something we really discussed. How rough are you willing to get?”
He reached a third door with another palm lock. This door opened into a smaller room. Standing in the center of the room stood a Saint Andrew’s Cross.
Restrained
“Um, Derek…”
“Yes?”
“That kind of terrifies me.” She couldn’t stop staring at the imposing structure.
Dark wood paneled the walls, and the ceiling had been painted black. Beneath their feet, a similarly dark wooden floor glistened with a high polish. Rose-red sconces dotted the walls and flickered with a dancing light. There was no bed. The Saint Andrew’s Cross dominated the small room, and a solitary spotlight shone down on the cross. A chill crept down her spine, and her stomach knotted.
“Bondage is yellow for you,” he pronounced. “I’ve moved it to green.”
“But…”
He shook his head and deposited her in front of the cross. “Strip.”
The command fluttered through her belly, even as her unease flared. What had she gotten herself into?
With a hard stare, he increased the intensity of his expression. While she wanted to continue discussion about the cross, his entire bearing said something different. This was an obey me or else moment. The direction they were headed would allow for eventual punishments, but she was in no way eager to cross that line. Not yet. Which meant, she had to accept this.
“Was my command confusing?” He arched a brow and crossed his arms over his chest.
“No,” she said, softly. “It wasn’t.”
“Then I suggest you strip.”
Her gaze shifted to the cross and took in the thick leather cuffs. Two pairs decorated the wood; ankle and wrist cuffs. Forming a narrow X, supports extended behind the Saint Andrew’s cross, stabilizing the device. She reached for her blouse and undid the buttons with trembling fingers. Her breaths came quickly, matching the racing of her heart. The light fabric fluttered to the floor as she undid the button and zipper of her pants, stripping for him.
Derek’s eyes traced the path of her horribly unsexy striptease, but he said nothing. Standing before her, arms crossed, strong jaw clenched tight, she felt him taking her in. After she had stepped out of her pants, she bent down to pick them up, intending to fold everything neatly.
“Leave it there,” he said. “Bra and panties next.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, sinking into her role.
She reached behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra, releasing the confining support while Derek followed her every move. The bra landed in the pile with her other clothes. Her fingers hooked in the lace of her panties.
“Stop,” he said, stepping forward.
His commanding presence had her shifting back on her heels, but she didn’t dare step back from him. Craning her neck back, she glanced up at him. All the blogs she’d read said submissives didn’t look their Doms in the eye, but Derek never gave that command. Not once had he stopped the directness of her gaze. Instead, he traced the backs of his fingers across her jaw.
“Allow me,” he said.
Stooping down, he brushed the curve of her ear with his lips, making her gasp. His fingers pulled hers away from the lace and then curved around the fabric. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself to the ground, until his face was level with her belly. He kissed her there, and took a slow, grazing, nibble across her mid-section, making her giggle.
“Ticklish?” he asked.
“Not usually,” she admitted, “but no one’s ever done that before.”
“Hmm, we can have fun with that.”
Oh, she hoped not. Not a normally ticklish person, Derek’s whisper light touch had her nerves firing on overdrive, making them overly sensitive, and incredibly ticklish. When he nipped at her hip, she couldn’t help but wriggle away.
�
��Stop,” she teased. “You’re killing me.”
He glanced up at her, the pupils of his eyes blown with lust. “You’re telling me no?”
“Oh no!” That was most definitely not allowed.
He nibbled at her other hip, and she squirmed as he gripped her thighs, making it impossible to move.
“Hold still, sub,” he said with a growl. “I’m not done.”
Not done? What did he intend to do?
He hooked the lace of her panties again and slid the fabric over her hips and down her legs. Tapping the inside of her right ankle, she lifted that foot. He did the same with her other foot. He tossed her panties on the pile of her clothes, leaving her completely naked and him fully clothed.
“You’re incredible,” he said, coming back to kiss below her navel. He dipped down and pressed his nose to the juncture of her thighs. With a deep inhale, she dug her fingers into his hair and lifted her face to the dark ceiling.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“Intoxicating,” he said. “I could stay here forever and devour that sweet pussy of yours. What do you say, sub? Would you like that?”
“Yes,” she screeched as he reached out with his tongue and licked her clit.
The roughness of his tongue swirling over her sensitive nub had her toes curling and her legs shaking. She rocked against his face and ground against his mouth.
“Oh, yes!”
He shoved a finger inside her slit, lifting her up on her toes. The slow glide of his fingers matched the maddening dance of his tongue on her clit. He drove her wild with his fingers, slipping two inside her channel and finger fucking her to oblivion. The madness of his tongue swirled and flicked, and Sally dissolved as an orgasm ripped through her, making her cry out.
She nearly collapsed, but Derek caught her, rising from the floor and hugging her tight. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
He walked them backward, half carrying her across the floor. That orgasm had turned her legs to jelly, and she could barely think. He spun her around, and she stared into the dimly lit far corner of the room. Gripping her left wrist, he raised her arm slowly over her head, moving it out to the side. Sally closed her eyes, still floating in the bliss of that orgasmic wave. He did the same with her other wrist, taking her arm out wide. Her head sagged, and she missed the part where he secured her ankles in the cuffs at the base of the cross.
Becoming His, Learning to Breathe: Part Two - The Collective - Season 1, Episode 8 Page 12
