by L. DuBois
Yet his skin wasn’t cracked and scratchy. It was smooth.
A contradiction, like him. The Dom who wouldn’t look out of place in a motorcycle vest or champion boxer’s shorts and belt, but preferred precision BDSM.
“Up.” He added action to the word, pulling her to her feet.
She tightened her fingers in his, letting him help her. Once she was standing, she started to shake out her legs and flex her feet, but stopped mid-motion, her body weight on one leg, the other extended, foot pointed and toes on the ground.
She cursed herself for forgetting her resolution to prove to him that she could submit in the way he was used to. Chastity dropped her heel to the floor and centered herself. She lay her hands along the outsides of her thighs, pushed her shoulders back so her breasts were thrust forward and kept her gaze down.
“You stopped,” he said mildly.
“I’m trying.”
“Don’t.
Chastity winced. “Don’t try?” He was calling off the game. The overseers said anyone who refused to play would have to leave the club. She thought that was insane and harsh, but then again, she often didn’t understand why the super-rich did what they did.
Was he really angry enough about what had happened between them that he’d rather lose his membership than scene with her?
“Don’t stop what you were doing. Stretch out your legs.”
She darted a look at him from under her lashes, then once more shifted her weight onto one foot, shook out her leg, then repeated the motion on the other side. Once she was done she paused, waiting for an order. When he didn’t say anything, she flexed her feet, pointing them and then stretching one leg at a time back, pressing the tops of her feet and toes against the floor, the way ballet dancers did.
“You dance?”
“I did, all the way through high school. I haven’t since then.” Since it was clear he wasn’t going to end the scene, she was starting to relax. Bouncing up onto the balls of her feet, she stretched her arms towards the ceiling, then laced her fingers together, turning her hands palms up. Balanced like that, she let her head fall back, then carefully arched, maintaining her balance as she started a backbend. She could no longer complete the movement without falling, but the stretch felt good.
And she knew the position would draw his attention to her breasts. She wanted his attention on her. Wanted his hands on her.
What had happened to the fear? Fear would keep her hyperaware of her behavior, make it easier for her to focus on behaving in the most formally submissive way she knew.
He’d said she’d forgotten her place.
That thought sobered her, and Chastity straightened, dropping her arms to her sides and lowering her gaze. She managed a fleeting glance at his face, and she was right.
He was looking at her breasts.
She hoped, hoped he would reach out and touch her. Maybe they could ignore what she’d said, ignore his promise to remind her of her place.
Please, please, touch me.
“Come with me. It’s time for our next item.”
He didn’t take her hand but turned, walking out of the light. Chastity followed, pausing to blink when she passed into the darkness.
“Here.” His hard palm touched her shoulder, running down her arm. He cuffed her wrist with his fingers and pulled her forward. She followed him blindly, until her eyes adjusted.
The St. Andrew’s Cross dominated the back of the room. The lights were low here, and she could see it only in the dim ambient glow from recessed lighting hidden by a soffit along the back wall.
It was massive, the arms of the X-shaped piece of equipment each nearly a foot wide, and padded with slick, black fabric that was probably vinyl or pleather.
It wasn’t mounted to the wall but anchored by a thick column that connected at the center of the X. There were even little platforms at the bottom of the lower pieces, so the sub didn’t have to stand on the floor when strapped to it.
“Is this my place?” She hadn’t meant to speak and winced the second the words were out.
“Your place is obeying and trusting me.”
Before, she’d felt defensive when he’d said she’d needed to know her place, but these words made her blood heat and sweeten, as if it were pure, warm arousal that flowed through her veins.
“Do you? Trust me?”
“Yes.”
She’d once heard that there was a legal standard known as the “reasonable man”—what would a reasonable person do or expect. She was fairly certain a reasonable person’s answer to that question would be either “I just met you,” “Not enough to let you strap me to that thing,” or a flat out, “No.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“Thank you. You deserve to know that I value your trust.”
She wanted to ask if he was still upset with her. Did he regret the sex they’d had, or just what she’d said?
His tone had lightened, back to the teasing banter they’d had before. “The next bit of kink brought to you by the letter ‘I’ is immobilization.”
“Shit.” The curse popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Not a fan? I know it’s not a hard limit. It says on your list you indicated willing to try.”
“I am. I just don’t…I don’t normally need heavy bondage.”
“You aren’t tied up for your impact scenes?” He sounded doubtful. “I may not be a connoisseur, but I know it’s dangerous to flog someone who isn’t still. That would mean risking the implement hitting a bad spot—kidney, bone.”
“I usually have cuffs hooked to ceiling chains, but they’re loose. I can move if I need to.”
“And how does Master Leo, or others, make sure you’re safe?”
“He orders me to be still, or tells me to lean against the wall.”
“And you stay still?”
“I do. I know that might sound weird, but in the middle of an impact scene I do, and when he takes a break, I move around, keep myself loose.”
“Ah, I understand. But that doesn’t mean we’re skipping this item. It’s not a hard limit, and you have a safe word.”
She looked at the St. Andrew’s Cross, then to him. “Yes, Master Raine.”
He grunted in satisfaction. “Good. And, Chastity?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t give you permission to raise your gaze.”
Shit.
She looked down at the floor. On one hand she didn’t like that order, on the other she enjoyed that he’d corrected her, that he was being strict.
“Time to immobilize you.”
Master Raine tugged her forward with the hold he still had on her wrist, then grabbed her by the hips and turned her so her back was to the cross.
“Put your hands on my shoulders, then step up onto the foot plates.”
She laid her hands on him. She could say it was an accident that she touched bare skin, but it wasn’t. She’d deliberately aimed for the open collar of his shirt, sliding her fingers under the edges and pushing the shirt open a little as she did. He was so warm under her hands. She wanted to feel his hot, naked skin against her.
“Left foot,” he prompted.
She placed first her left and then right foot on the plates, which were attached to the bottom of the cross and about four inches off the floor. They were padded and large enough that most of her foot fit, only her toes hanging off the edge.
Now her legs were spread wide enough that she was glad to have him to hold onto.
Master Raine leaned into her, reaching around to the back of the cross. She sucked in air as his chest brushed against her nipples, which tightened in response to the fleeting contact.
He pulled back, drawing two thick straps around her waist. They were attached to the center point of the cross, which hit at her natural waist.
He laid the first strap against her. It was made of two layers, the inner of which was eight inches wide and lined with soft fleece. The outer layer was a narrower, stiffer pi
ece of leather that ended in a buckle.
The other side was made the same way. The wide pieces pressed firmly against her as he positioned them, before feeding the perforated thin strap through the buckle and fastening it. He hooked two fingers between her skin and the bindings, checking the tightness.
Apparently satisfied, he took a step back. Her hands slid off him. He seemed to consider her, his gaze roving over her exposed flesh.
Her pussy ached and pulsed in reaction to the possessive way he was looking at her. Or maybe it was to the bondage.
“Left arm up,” he ordered.
She raised that arm, and he strapped it in place, the built-in strap hitting her about mid-forearm. He moved on to her right arm, then to her ankles. Once he was done, five different straps crossed her body, holding her securely to the cross.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“It feels…odd.”
“What do you mean?”
Chastity wrinkled her nose and smiled, but remembered to keep her gaze lowered. “I’m usually facing the other way.”
Master Raine laughed. She kept her gaze down, but didn’t try to hide her own smile.
“I won’t deny that you’re almost distractingly appealing, but I’m not done.”
Chastity tried to lift her arms, the straps creaking. “I’m immobile.”
“Ah, but are you immobilized?”
“Yes?”
His lips quirked as he turned to the duffel bag on the floor. He reached in and pulled out a handful of short black straps. She thought she saw the glint of metal on the ends of a few of them.
He draped the handful of straps over her right shoulder. “Hold these, please.”
A nervous little sound that was perilously close to a giggle bubbled out of her. What was that? She didn’t giggle.
He went back to the bag and pulled out something else. Something small.
His expression was serious as he faced her. “Close your eyes.”
She closed them, and though she should have been expecting it, she was surprised when the silky blindfold slid down over her face. It felt like a sleeping mask, cool and soft, covering her face from forehead to the tops of her cheeks. He fussed with the strap, pulling her tail of hair out from under it.
She felt him step away—a swirl of air, the lack of heat from his body.
Then he turned on the lights. She heard the click, and opened her eyes just enough to see slivers of light under the bottom edge of the blindfold.
He was back, sliding a strap off the pile draped over her shoulder. She couldn’t move, so the added straps were unnecessary, but maybe he liked adding layers to the bondage.
The first strap went around her wrist. That made sense. The built-in restraints hit her mid-forearm instead of right at the wrist. He bound her other wrist to the cross with another strap. Each time he did it, he checked the tension by sliding his finger under it, and that little touch, as impersonal as it was, made her aware of her own nakedness and her desire for him to use her.
She settled in, waiting for whatever would come after he’d finished dressing her up.
After her wrists, he moved down to her upper arms, adding straps just below her elbows. Because the center of the cross was at her waist, her upper arms weren’t centered on the beams, so before he placed the straps, he carefully adjusted her arms so her elbows were slightly bent out to the side. It was smart, because it would stop her from locking her elbows. These must have been longer straps that pulled on her arms, forcing them down and out as much as the straps on her wrists and forearms would allow.
“Slow breaths,” he soothed.
She hadn’t realized she was panting until he said something. She’d said she couldn’t move before, but she’d been wrong. There had been enough slack she had been able to shift and flex. Now her arms were truly immobile. The only thing she could move were her fingers.
“Take a few more breaths. With me. Inhale. Now exhale.”
She breathed with him, and the anxiety she hadn’t even realized was building started to dissipate.
“I’m going to continue now. I want you to monitor your breathing.”
“More?”
“Yes, Chastity. Have you ever done rope bondage before?”
“Yes. A harness. One suspension scene.”
“Were you completely bound?” As he asked the question, he slid a strap around her chest, above her breasts. This one just went around her body—she could feel it making contact with her skin from her shoulder blade forward. It wasn’t attached to the cross in any way, so it wasn’t really immobilizing her.
He tightened the strap and she whimpered.
It felt like it was holding her down, making it harder to move.
“Shh, you’re okay.” He cupped one breast and thumbed the nipple. “Focus on your breast. Do you feel me playing with you?”
“Yes.”
“You have wonderful breasts. Do you like breast play?”
“I do.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Jeweled clamps.”
“You mean the ones with pretty little decorations hanging from them, like earrings?”
“Yes.”
“That’s surprising.”
She wondered if she was blushing. “I know it’s not a very impact-play-sub thing to like.”
“If I’d had to guess, I thought you might have liked to have your nipples cropped.”
This time when she gasped, it wasn’t because of anxiety from the immobilization. “I like that, too.”
He slapped her breast, a gentle tap on the lower curve. “They really are lovely. Yours?”
It took her a minute to figure out what he was asking. “I can’t affor—Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to ask a woman if her breasts are real?”
He chuckled. “You’re right. Please accept my apologies.”
“I have some ideas for how you could make it up to me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Something like this?” His lips closed over her nipple. His tongue laved her in a long broad stroke that dampened the whole tip of her breast.
Her nipple, which had been bereft of stimulation, reacted to his touch by sending zinging lines of pleasure through her body. Her teeth clenched and she made a needy noise.
He switched to her other breast, this time biting the nipple and pulling back, his teeth holding her tight as he stretched her sensitive flesh.
She tried to lean forward, to both relieve the pulling pain on her nipple and to offer her breast to him for more of the same.
She couldn’t do it. The abrupt reminder of the bindings made her hiss.
She tossed her head side to side, wanting the blindfold off. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t see.
Master Raine caught her head in his hands, his palms a firm pressure on either side of her face. “Deep breaths, Chastity. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.”
He matched his own breathing to the words, and she felt his breath wash over her. That was somehow calming, and she relaxed, letting her head fall forward slightly, so he was holding the weight of her skull.
“Okay, sweetheart, just stay in the moment and focus on your breathing. I’m not done immobilizing you.”
“There’s more?” He’d called her sweetheart. It was probably just one of his filler words, but it felt good.
“Yes.”
“Would you…would you tell me what you’re doing?”
He was silent for so long, she wondered if he was going to punish her for asking by going mute.
“That’s reasonable. I will tell you as I’m doing it, not before. I don’t want you to tense up.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that.”
A chuckle. “I don’t want you to tense up any more than you already are.” He tugged on the strap around her upper chest. “You feel this? There are D rings all around it.”
She heard the high “zip” sound she recognized as being nylon rope sliding against
itself.
There was some tugging at the strap. “I’m using rope to tie this strap to anchor points on the back of the cross. When I’m done, you won’t be able to lean forward.”
“I can’t lean forward now.”
“You can. You did. I felt it. You didn’t want me to bite that pretty nipple.” He tweaked the nipple he’d captured with his teeth.
“I didn’t want you to stop. I wanted you to suck me and lick me and then bite me harder.”
The sound of rope sliding stopped, and then her nipple was viciously pinched and twisted.
Chastity shrieked. Pleasure and pain stabbed through her. She whimpered happily as he continued to twist and pinch.
Master Raine grunted. “Stop distracting me.” Something slapped her thigh, a stinging pain that was all too brief.
“Rope,” she said. “I bet you just hit me with a loop of rope.”
“That’s quite an impressive party trick.”
“Thank you.”
“But now it’s time to finish this. Immobilization isn’t the only item I want to deal with in this scene.”
“It’s not?”
He didn’t answer. She was tugged side to side as he added ropes to the chest strap, tying it to the back of the St. Andrew’s Cross.
Then he went to work on her legs, adding straps to her upper thighs. He placed pads at the back of her knees so she couldn’t hyperextend them, then added straps above and below the knee.
When he was done, the only thing she could move was her head.
“One last thing,” he said gently.
“Yes, Sir.” Sometime in the past ten minutes she’d dropped into her subspace. She’d breathed through the anxiety, and just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to hold it in any longer, when she thought she’d scream out “yellow,” the anxiety had disappeared, as if that feeling was a balloon that had popped, leaving behind only a warm calm.
“Raise your chin. I’m going to put you in a posture collar.”
She held still as the thick, tall collar was placed around her neck. Posture collars were modeled after, and something created from, cervical collars used by paramedics. It came down low in the front, braced against her collarbones, and pressed her chin up. The base of her skull rested on the padded back piece, and the sides dug into her trapezius muscles.
