Light Switch

by Lauren Gallagher

  I shivered, and it wasn’t entirely from excitement. I can do this. I can handle this.

  “Your mobility,” he said, “and your ability to speak.” He turned and lifted something off the rack below the whips and floggers. When he held it up, my throat tightened around my breath. The sight of the gag made my skin crawl.

  I can do this. I can handle this.

  “Since this is your first time, I won’t use a ball gag,” he said. “It can tire your jaw out, and some people feel like they’re choking with something like that.”

  I swallowed. You don’t say.

  With the gag in his hand, he led me to the Saint Andrew’s Cross and had me face it. He intended to flog me, then, and that thought sent a ripple of anticipation through me. If I could keep it together until he started flogging me, then the pain and endorphins would carry me through the fear of being bound.

  I hoped.

  “Stay right there.” Without another word, he went back to the rack of whips and floggers, and from that rack, selected a short crop whip. To my surprise, he handed it to me.

  “With the gag, you won’t be able to speak,” he said. “So this will be your safe gesture. If it’s getting to be too much, if you find yourself wanting to say your safe word, just drop the whip. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Now give me your hand.”

  Cool fear and warm arousal vied for dominance, flooding my veins and coiling around my spine. Scott fastened my wrist into a leather cuff at the top of the Saint Andrew’s Cross. Then my other wrist on the opposite side. When he went for my ankle, I drew in a long breath through my nose. I rubbed my thumb against the handle of the crop, reminding myself over and over of the purpose it served. Just drop it if this gets to be too much. I can do this. I can handle this.

  The last cuff closed around my other ankle, and I was bound. Completely immobile.

  I thumbed the crop’s handle a little harder.

  “Any pain? Anything tingling?”

  Oh, something’s tingling all right. I swallowed. “No, Sir.”

  “Good. Open your mouth.”

  I licked my lips, then did as he’d ordered. He slid the gag into my mouth. The rubber wasn’t hard enough to bang against my teeth or cause any pain, fortunately, but it was strange to say the least. I tried to concentrate on its odd taste or the smooth texture against my tongue, anything to distract me from what it was or why it was there.

  As he fastened the strap around the back of my head, the gag pulled against the corners of my mouth. I dug my teeth into it, breathing slowly and evenly as I reminded myself that he was in control. Sir was in control. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  I can do this. I can handle this.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. The crop’s handle was damp with sweat as my thumb tried to burrow into it. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to focus on anything but my immobility or the gag in my mouth. Instead, I listened to Scott moving around nearby.

  He was at the flogger rack. Then he was beside me. He checked my bindings. Moved again. Stopped.

  And he was still. For a long, silent moment, he was still, and my worries started to creep back into my consciousness.

  The smack of leather on skin drew my attention away from everything that made me nervous. From everything. Goose bumps prickled my skin in anticipation of the flogger hitting my back instead of his palm.

  He hit his hand again. I dug my teeth into the gag, silently pleading with him to hit me, hit me, please, hit me.

  The first stroke was gentle, just enough for the leather to tap my skin and draw my attention to the anticipation of the next stroke. And the next. And the next. The rhythmic thud of the flogger’s tails occupied my senses. I closed my eyes, letting my head fall forward as the percussive massage consumed me. With time, he struck harder, the tails biting with each sharp crack of leather on flesh. I was distantly aware of a moan of pleasure escaping around and vibrating against the gag.

  With every stroke, the world around me faded a little more. I lived and breathed for the split second of impact and the myriad sensations that followed each strike. I wasn’t numb to the pain, just detached from it. Removed. On a different plane where all that mattered was the head-spinning, knee-trembling oblivion that swallowed me a little at a time.

  A vague cramp in my hip nudged its way into my consciousness and prompted me to fidget, but the bindings held me solidly in place. An inkling of fear trickled down my spine like a drop of cold sweat, piercing the cloud of endorphins that had fogged my mind. I couldn’t move. I knew I couldn’t move. I was okay. I’d consented to this.

  I can do this.

  I can’t move, I can’t move, I can’t—

  I can handle this.

  My Master knew what he was doing. I was safe. I had a safe word.

  Another icy drop of panic. The tacit security of the safe word was lost in the gag that kept me from speaking if I needed to.

  Every muscle in my body twitched with the sudden violent need to get free, to fight or fly.

  Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t fly.

  I couldn’t get enough air.

  My heart pounded.

  Oh God.

  Panic surged through my veins and when I clenched my fists, I suddenly remembered the my safe signal, but a split second before I released the crop in my hand, Scott’s arm was around my waist and the tension on my bindings went slack. As the crop clattered to the floor, the strap around my head loosened and he pulled the gag free.

  I gasped for air, keeping my eyes tightly shut as the room whirled around me. My legs collapsed, and Scott guided me to my knees.

  “Breathe,” he whispered. He knelt beside me, holding me against his chest and stroking my hair. “Just breathe, baby. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

  I found and clung to the front of his shirt and tried to catch my breath. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m—”

  “Shh. It happens. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He kissed my forehead and continued stroking my hair. His hand’s gentle motion lulled me into calm like the flogger’s rhythm had lulled me into subspace. My heart rate came down. Breathing came easier. The trembling stilled.

  After a moment, he sat back, raising my chin to make eye contact. “You okay?”

  “Yes, Mast—”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m asking as Scott, not Sir.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

  I exhaled hard, my shoulders dropping with the release of my breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Can you stand?”

  My legs still trembled, but I nodded.

  “Come on. Let’s get you out of here and go in the other room.” He helped me to my feet, pausing to make sure my feet would stay under me before he picked up a couple of water bottles off the table and led me out of the dungeon. My legs were steadier than I expected, and I could walk on my own, but he kept one arm securely around my waist until we were in his bedroom. There, he pulled the covers back and made an after you gesture.

  When we were in bed, he drew the sheet up over us, but otherwise left the blankets off. He pulled me close to him and caressed my back while we both drank in silence.

  After I’d finished my water, he took our empty bottles and set them beside the bed.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “I feel kind of stupid now, to be honest.”

  “There’s nothing to feel stupid about, Krissy. Sometimes when you push boundaries, they push back.”

  “I guess. I just feel like an idiot for freaking out that much.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Trust me, you’re not. When you start playing around with this kind of thing, you just never know what can happen. What doesn’t bother one person might trigger some really deep, primal response in someone else.”

  I sighed. “I thought I could handle it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Sometimes you don’t k
now until you get into it.”

  “But I should have known. I mean, I’m claustrophobic any—”

  “Wait, what?” Scott propped himself up on his arm and cocked his head.

  “I’m claustrophobic. Always have been.” I looked away, watching my fingers trace a crease on his shirt. “So I was a bit concerned about this.” I paused. “Okay, I was really nervous about it.”

  He raised my chin and frowned as he looked in my eyes. “Krissy, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought, you know, once we got into it, I’d be okay. Like I’ve been with everything else.”

  “Baby, you have to tell me,” he said. “If anything bothers you, if anything makes you nervous at all, even if you think it’s just a silly thing. If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t, and I need to know that before it gets to this point.”

  I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I will.”

  He pulled me to him and smoothed my hair. “Trust is a two-way street with this sort of thing. I’m trusting you to tell me where the lines are. If you’re not sure, or if you have even the faintest concern about something, I need to know so I can be careful.”

  “I’m sorry.” My face burned. First I’d freaked out, then I’d fucked up in not telling him I was worried to begin with. Christ, this night was off to a splendid start. I sighed again. “I’m sorry, Scott, I—”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He kissed my forehead again. “You’re learning, and I should have been clearer about it when we started out. In the future, though, if you’re even a little bit nervous, tell me. I wouldn’t even think of punishing you or giving you a hard time for that.” He again lifted my chin and looked me in the eye. “Remember what I said before: I’m in this for your submission, not fear.”

  “I know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”

  “Embarrassed, maybe?”

  “A little, yeah.”

  “It’s okay.” He smiled and kissed me gently. “I promise, you’re not the only one who’s gone through this. No one enjoys admitting something scares them.” He draped his arm over my waist, resting his hand against the small of my back. “Maybe we should skip the bondage for a while. Until you’re absolutely sure you’re comfortable with it.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. If you decide you’re ready to try it again, we will.” He pulled me a little closer. “But I won’t push you, I promise.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. We both fell silent for a moment.

  He caressed my cheek. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I exhaled and rolled my eyes. “I just feel like an idiot.”

  “No reason for that.” His hand drifted into my hair. “These things happen.”

  “A bit of a mood killer though, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “We can take care of that. Come here.” He drew me into a gentle kiss.

  That kiss went on.

  Went on and deepened.

  I combed my fingers through his hair. He didn’t push my hands away or pin me down, didn’t forbid me to touch him. His hands were too busy memorizing the curve of my spine, my waist, the swell of my hip.

  His jeans brushed my thighs, and when he pressed his hips against mine, and his erection made my breath catch. Relief and arousal swept through me; on some level, I’d been certain he’d back away. That he would push me away. It didn’t matter if it made sense. Rational or not, my fear of his rejection or disapproval was as real as my panic on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.

  I had no idea if it was a need for security or if I was just turned on being this close to Scott, but I had to have him. Right now.

  I went for the first button of his shirt. He didn’t protest or make any effort to stop me. Instead, he untucked his shirt and helped my trembling fingers with the buttons. Without breaking the kiss, we managed to get his shirt unbuttoned and over his shoulders. He put his arms around me and rolled me onto my back, alternately kissing my mouth and neck as his bare skin heated mine to a nearly feverish temperature.

  And still it wasn’t enough.

  I reached between us to unbuckle his belt. He raised his hips, granting my hands more access. When his belt and zipper were undone, we both pushed his jeans and boxers over his hips. Our bodies came together again, separated this time by nothing but breathtaking heat.

  “Tell me what you want.” His voice thrummed against my lips.

  “I want…” I lost my train of thought when he bent to kiss my neck.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. “This isn’t a game. I’m not your Master.” He kissed just below my ear. “Tell me what you want, because I want to give it to you.”

  I moaned, my back arching as his stubble brushed my neck. “I want you,” I finally murmured.

  “Then that,” he said, pausing to kiss my mouth, “is what you will have.” He leaned away for a moment, and the rattle of the nightstand drawer made my breath catch. Lying on his back, he tore the wrapper and rolled on the condom.

  Once it was in place, we came together once more, kissing and holding each other as he guided me onto my back. My hands trembled as they combed through his hair. He released slow, steady breaths against the side of my face, every exhalation underscoring his complete and total control. He was in control, so I was free to lose control.

  “Why don’t you get on top?” His lips brushed mine. “The sheets might be too rough on your back right now.”

  As one, we rolled over, and I straddled him. I raised my hips and he guided his cock to me. Then he eased me down, and we sighed against each other’s lips as he slipped into me. His hand gently grasped my hair, the other my hip, and he held me closer as I took him deeper. When he was all the way inside me, I stopped. Our mouths moved together, but for an eternity, our bodies were still.

  His lips left mine and he gently pulled my head back so he could look up at me. “No matter what,” he said, “no matter how much I command you, or punish you, or push your limits…” He lifted his hips, urging me to rise as he went on. “No matter what, I never want you to be afraid of me.” He looked into my eyes as he guided me back down onto him. “And I will never, never hurt you.”

  Just before I kissed him, I whispered, “I know.”

  We went from unmoving to barely moving to a smooth, fluid rhythm, and the lingering echoes of my earlier panic faded with every gentle stroke. Verbally, he’d tried to soothe my nerves and my worries, but it was this tender, intimate sex that said everything words couldn’t: I’d done nothing wrong. He still wanted me. All was as it needed to be.

  We’d never had sex before except when he was my Master. In spite of his assurances that this was no longer a game, I didn’t know if I was permitted to come, if he still demanded that control. Not that it mattered; with the way he moved inside me now, not coming was simply not an option.

  I buried my face against his neck. “Oh God, Scott,” I murmured.

  “Don’t hold back, baby.” He kissed me and caressed my face. “Let go. I want to feel you come.”

  In the instant I surrendered, time slowed down. Each stroke was long and languid, what seemed like hours passing between each shuddering gasp and every thundering heartbeat.

  And all the while, he whispered in my ear, “You feel amazing when you come, Kristen, absolutely fucking amazing.” Still steady, still in control, still moving just right to draw out the icy-hot ripples coursing through me like shockwaves in slow motion.

  My orgasm peaked and fell, but his deep, fluid strokes kept it from subsiding completely.

  Scott exhaled sharply, his breath cooling the side of my face. Something profane slipped off his lips as he closed his eyes, and when his hands trembled on my hips, I knew he was close. I rolled my hips back, biting my lip when he rewarded me with a gasp. He arched his back and whispered something—I thought it was my name, but it could have been anything—and looked up at me one last time before he closed his eyes again, groaned, and came.

  We were still
for a long time, just holding onto each other while his orgasm came and went. Even as it all subsided, the air was still energized around and between us. I was surprised our skin didn’t sizzle wherever we touched.

  When I was sure I could move without collapsing, I lifted myself off him and lay beside him. He got up long enough to take care of the condom, then joined me under the covers again. I rested my head on his shoulder.

  As we both caught our breath, something tightened in my gut. The ghost of my earlier panic fluttered to the surface, tingling just beneath my skin as I came down from the heat of the moment.

  Something was different.

  Something had changed.

  As he held me close and trailed his fingers up and down my arm, I couldn’t decide what unsettled me more: my earlier freak-out over being bound, or the fact that Scott and I had just made love.

  Chapter 17

  The usual watering hole was as crowded as it always was on Friday nights. Light and sound throbbed against the base of my skull as my sleep-deprived mind tried to keep up with my overwhelming surroundings. I was vaguely aware of conversations going on around me at the booth I shared with my friends, but the words melted into the cacophony of pulsing music and clinking glasses.

  What the hell am I doing here? I should be home sleeping. I’d spent the last few nights staring at my bedroom ceiling, alone with thoughts I needed to—but was unable to—sort out.

  Matt had been out of town all week and would be for a couple more days yet. Pity, because he was just the kind of distraction I needed right now.

  I tapped my fingers on the side of my untouched drink. It was my second since I’d arrived an hour or two before. The first hadn’t done a damned bit of good, and now I wondered why I’d bothered ordering the second. Sighing, I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

  The front door opened for the umpteenth time tonight, and something in the air shifted. An uncomfortable knot twisted in my gut. Even after the door closed, the air remained changed, and I didn’t have to turn around to know who’d just walked in.