He watched Katrina pull the bag out from the table. She looked surprised at how heavy it was, which didn’t surprise him. There were a few feet of heavy-gauge solid steel chain in there. Rope or a lighter chain would serve all his purposes, but he found that the clank of the thick links had a psychological effect on most submissives that he enjoyed.
She looked up and had a quick chat with Malcolm, who followed her gaze over to Brett. Brett nodded in response to the man’s inquiring look. Malcolm raised just one eyebrow too, but that was because what would be two eyebrows on most people had merged into one solid line on the skilled whipmaker. Attractive, Malcolm was not.
Katrina lifted the bag. She didn’t have it very far off the ground, but to her credit, she didn’t drag it as she carried it across the club. She set it down near the cross with a sigh of relief. “That thing is bloody heavy, Sir,” she remarked, as if he didn’t get the point.
“You’re a strong girl,” he told her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “Good solid muscle. How’d you get that way?” The thought crossed his mind that maybe she was used to swinging a flogger, rather than being on the receiving end. A lot of men didn’t like dominating women who liked it on both sides. Others relished it, taking a special glee in trying to turn a domme. Either way, there were reasons why a woman who wanted to sub for an evening might not want to let someone know she liked to be dominant some or most of the time.
“Lifting other people’s”—she paused—“heavy equipment,” she finished with at last, giving him the distinct impression she’d started to say something more specific. What was she hiding from him and why? But he suspected her answer was accurate, if not very informative. “And I work out at the gym sometimes. Not as often as I should.”
He smiled. “Or as much as you want to?”
“Way more than I want to.” She made a face. “Well, maybe that’s not true. It’s just when I’m stressed, it’s hard to find the energy for it.”
He nodded. Made sense to him. “Where do you go?” Maybe that was where he met her.
“I haven’t found a place out here yet.”
So she wasn’t just visiting, or she wouldn’t have put it quite that way. He filed that away, not that he was looking for a relationship, but in his experience, one could never know too many things about a sub. What was implied was sometimes more informative than what was said. He thought of offering her some information on what the better local gyms were, but he decided to do that later. He didn’t want to get sidetracked.
“Since you’re not new to all this, let’s have a more mature conversation. Any problems with bondage?”
“No. Not in a place like this, where I can call for help.”
He noted the distinction she made approvingly. Letting strangers tie you up in private wasn’t safe. Some people got off on playing dangerously, the adrenaline enhancing their sexual excitement, but all too often that went with a lack of self-respect. “And if you like being flogged, then you know you’ll feel it more on bare skin.”
She nodded. “I think you’re the first guy I ever met who wasn’t interested in taking my clothes off.”
“Oh, I’m interested, all right. But I needed your honesty first, because if I hadn’t gotten it, I was going to walk away, and if I’d feel bad about leaving a naked woman alone in a strange club.” He reached out and started unbuttoning her blouse.
“Are you going to flog my back, Sir?”
“I think your ass is a more inviting target today.” His friend Evan was an expert at flogging. He’d taught Brett a thing or two, enough that he could please his partners who liked it. But it wasn’t his favorite thing. Bare-handed spanking, he enjoyed. Caressing a woman, teasing her. Driving her crazy with desire. But hitting a woman with an implement, not so much. If he was going to do it, he was at least going to concentrate on an erogenous zone.
“Then why do you need to take my top off?”
He grinned as he popped another button, revealing generous cleavage and a lacy blue bra. “Do you still think this is all about you? I like the view.” He looked long enough to make sure she knew he was looking, and then met her gaze again.
She was blushing. He hadn’t expected that for some reason, but he hadn’t met anyone yet who could fake it. He thought it was a good look on her. He unbuttoned another button, and he could see the nub of a nipple poking against the lace. The other one was covered by the satin lower half of the cup. He adjusted her bra so that both peeked through. The blush extended down her neck, but she didn’t stop him.
“Lean back against the cross,” he said. He told himself it was to make sure they kept it for their use, but he enjoyed giving her orders too. And she needed something to do, because her hands were fidgeting as if she wanted to button herself back up. He didn’t want that.
She reached back behind her, feeling for the cross rather than looking at it, as if she couldn’t take her gaze off him. Maybe she didn’t trust him. She stepped back, cautiously, until the back of her foot hit the frame, and then stretched back against the cross. He cupped her breasts, his hands on the satin, but his thumb questing above the lace. He nudged her nipple, and she shivered.
“Sensitive?” he asked, although he’d discovered the answer.
“Very.”
“Beautiful.” He squeezed one nipple between thumb and forefinger and watched her pull back against the wood behind her. He hadn’t squeezed very hard, not even a pinch. “Very sensitive.”
“I usually only like my tits being played with when I’m very close.”
He smiled. She hadn’t tried to tell him what to do. It was simple information. Maybe there was hope for her yet. “Usually. But now?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and again he sensed she was being honest.
“Let me play for another minute or two, and I’ll reward you.”
Her eyes widened and then narrowed. “What kind of reward?”
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
Chapter Two
Kat wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that or the devilish grin on Brett’s face. She wasn’t sure about the touch of his hands, but she was beginning to think she liked it. He was rubbing around her nipple without squeezing it. It was tingling, but it wasn’t quite too much. Doms liked to play with her tits. She could usually distract them by giving them an ass to spank. This one she suspected would be cross with her if she so much as tried it. Usually getting a dom cross helped her get what she wanted. She wasn’t sure that would work with Brett. She was used to being sure. She liked being sure.
At least she always thought she did.
He pressed his body against hers. He was so big and solid; it was like bondage being sandwiched between him and the cross. She was starting to get that familiar warmth inside, the feeling she came here for. She squirmed against him.
Her breasts were entirely too sensitive. That was the problem. Vanilla men were actually better for them, because there seemed to be an expectation in the BDSM world that subs liked it when you were rough with their tits. And most seemed to but not Kat. It got to be too much very quickly, and when it did, it was about as erotic as a stubbed toe. It was too bad vanilla didn’t do it for her in any other way.
He bent down and kissed her chest, then sucked one nipple into his mouth through the lace. Then the other, moving before it got too intense. She was surprised it actually felt kind of good. Yeah, he could do that some more, if he liked.
He did but not for long enough. He stepped back. “I promised you a reward. Take your jeans off.”
“And my boots? Or do you like those on?” She had a pair of spike-heel ankle boots. They were almost shoes, but she needed extra ankle support ever since the one time she’d fallen off the stage. That had been right after a fight with Angus, and he’d said it was an accident that he’d bumped her while he was bouncing around with his guitar. She’d wondered. It had been toward the end of the last song of their set, so the fans had gotten their money’s worth. Th
e “accident” had probably increased Kradle’s reputation for being one of the hardest-rocking live acts around. She’d accepted his apology and vouched for him in a half dozen interviews.
“You can leave them on unless they’re hurting your feet. This cross is probably best for someone a little taller, so you can use the extra help.”
She blinked. One out of three doms liked her barefoot. The other two thought heels were sexy. That was what it came down to every time. Either Brett was very smooth with the explanations, or he was a very different kind of man indeed.
She unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled out of them. They had been tight when she’d gotten them and were tighter now, and it was hard to do it gracefully. As she struggled she wished she’d worn something else. A skirt, maybe. But she liked the way she looked in black denim. It was slimming. Short skirts showed off her too-thick thighs, and long ones looked frumpy.
Once she’d peeled them over her boots, she turned to face the cross, but Brett stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Not so fast,” he said. “I want to see you first.” He helped the blouse the rest of the way, sliding it off her arms, and then stepped back. He wasn’t sneaking a peek, like most guys did. He looked her over from head to toe and back again as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to ogle her and for her to stand there in her underwear and let him. Objectification. That’s what her feminist friends would call it, and Kat considered herself a feminist. So why was she pulling her tummy in and arching her back for him? She didn’t know, but his gaze was making her tingle.
“You’re a fine-looking woman, Katrina. Very lovely. Now let’s see if we can redden that ass.” He grinned. “Face the frame and put your arms up.”
She turned. He was right about the cross. Her breasts would have been squeezed if she’d been lower, or pressed oddly against the wood. As it was, they nestled nicely in between the upper arms. She stretched her arms up and spread her legs, making her body an X to match the shape of the cross. She wondered if he’d watch her ass, bared by the blue thong she wore, the way he’d looked over her tits. She hoped he liked it. And oddly, she found herself wanting that for its own sake, not because he’d be more eager about flogging her.
He wrapped cuffs around her wrists. The cuffs were padded, comfortable, and buckled on. Then he bent down and did the same to her ankles. “Thank you, Sir,” she said and wondered why she’d said it. When she said she wasn’t on her game tonight, it was an understatement. She was losing track of the fact that it was a game and acting as if it was real. Method acting. Maybe I’m method acting.
He clipped a chain to the cuff on her left wrist, then attached it to the nearby eyebolt with a carabiner. Then he walked around her with the chain, attached it to the other side the same way, and then to her right cuff. She couldn’t have broken the heavy steel links if she’d been Samson, and when she pulled at them, they clanked. A nervous tremor went through her, as if for a moment she’d been transported to some dark medieval dungeon. Ropes had never had that kind of effect on her, and certainly Velcro cuffs and nylon webbing hadn’t either. She jerked her hands again and got more clanking. She could feel the weight of the chain too, hanging from her wrists when she tried to move them closer to the eyebolts. Intellectually, she knew it was as safe as any other bondage she’d experienced. It wouldn’t stop her from yelling the club safe word if she needed to. The carabiners would take less time to detach than a rope would to untie or cut. The heavy buckles on the cuffs wouldn’t take more than fraction of a second longer to undo. Yet this felt more real, somehow. She could almost believe she really couldn’t get away, which was delicious and scary.
He gave her ankles the same treatment, but this time the chain stretched on the floor and made a different sound when she moved.
He chuckled when she pulled on the chains. “Trust me. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I know that, Sir,” she replied, somehow anxious to have him know she wasn’t stupid. She was acting as if she was trying to break free because she liked feeling the solidness of the restraints and hearing the clanking sound.
The gentle touch of his hand on her shoulder almost made her jump, even though it was warm. He had her on edge. It was ridiculous. She was in a perfectly safe club, and if he stepped out of line, she could scream, and people would come running. He was pushing buttons she didn’t even know she had.
She felt his other hand on her bottom. He moved it in circles, gently caressing the soft bare flesh. She felt like she had goose bumps there. She thought of herself as experienced, but she didn’t feel very experienced at all at the moment. She’d been in clubs like this a dozen times and played every time, but it had always been the same and under control somehow. Under her control.
He swatted her suddenly, without warning, and it stung. She knew he hadn’t hit her with his full strength, but something about the way he moved his hand created a sharper and less thuddy sensation than she was used to. She flattened herself against the cross and took a deep breath as the sensation faded.
“Is that what you want, Katrina?”
“If you wish, Sir.” It was one of her favorite phrases. Enough of a yes to get the dom to go on without revealing how much she wanted it. She loved sting. The thud of a flogger made her remember the little shoves Angus used to give her, and that wasn’t good. He never hit her, but he was often rough and intimidating. But those sharp little pains one got from a thin-tailed cat or crop, she loved. Spankings were usually somewhere in between.
“I asked if you wanted it,” Brett said, his voice revealing no give at all.
Damn. “Yes, Sir.”
He swatted her again. And again. His hand only lingered on her ass for a moment, and then he pulled it away. Saying yes had gotten her what she wanted. She pushed her ass back for more.
His hand left her shoulder, and she missed it. But it was only gone for a second before it came to rest on her belly. She had been pressed too tightly against the cross before, but now there was space for him.
“I think”— swat—“that since I’m giving you what you want”— swat—“that I should get a reward, don’t you?” he asked. Each swat sent a jolt from her ass to her pussy and made her clit tingle.
“Yes, Sir.”
He slipped his hand down inside her panties. Which, she realized, were soaked. Her clit was tiny, even when swollen like it was now, and never quite seemed to poke out. Guys always needed help finding it, but that was okay for now. Any touch would feel good.
Whether by skill or luck, he rested his finger right on the small bundle of nerves and rubbed in little circles. It was all going too fast. He was supposed to spank her until her ass was red and then make her come. Maybe the long time she’d spent without sex had her primed, but this was ridiculous.
Then he surprised her by giving her another swat. This one pushed her into his hand, and the mix of pain and pleasure confused her. She didn’t figure it out until he landed another. They were hard enough they jolted his finger off her clit, but each time he returned to that exact spot.
She felt like there were sparks shooting in her pussy as she climaxed. Shivers went up and down her legs, and they reacted, jerking the chains and making them clank on the floor. Her ass clenched, and her body tensed, and she felt for a moment like she was going to pull the whole St. Andrew’s cross over.
She tried to catch her breath. “Thank you, Sir.” She hardly ever remembered to say Sir after she came. But then, it usually took forever, because of all the fumbling around most guys did. That’s why she liked the flagellation part to take a while; it got her warmed up to the point that it didn’t take too much direct stimulation to set her off. In any case, she’d gotten what she came for, and she relaxed in the chains. He’d let her go, and she’d thank him again. Maybe she’d even give him her cell number.
“We’re not done, Katrina.”
“We’re not?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Maybe he wanted to come too? But that was alw
ays problematic in a place like this. Women could come without a mess, although she felt pretty messy at the moment. Guys, on the other hand, well, a club didn’t want a biohazard on the floor, and while she’d seen subs made to come in their pants, doms would usually go without. And blowjobs and intercourse were off-limits because the cops would have a cow. Before that had been part of the attraction to getting off at BDSM clubs, that she didn’t have to deal with actual sex. Now she wasn’t so sure. “But.”
“I’ve given you what you wanted. Now you have to give me what I want.”
“What’s that?”
“The same thing.”
An orgasm? Or did he mean something else? He swatted her again. She shrieked. She hadn’t been expecting it, and she was more sensitive after coming, not less.
“Good girl,” he whispered to her. Now she understood what he meant. This time the spanking would be for his pleasure.
She didn’t want it. Not anymore, not now that she was satisfied. But she couldn’t say it wasn’t fair. That had always been the deal she offered doms: she’d take a spanking or a flogging for them in exchange for her climax. That she’d been pretending not to like the first part didn’t change the fact that she’d agreed to the trade. And now she was going to get a spanking she didn’t want.
His finger slipped off her clit, deeper into her panties. He swatted her again. It was the same as the way he’d spanked her when she’d come, but now it just hurt.
He slid two fingers into her pussy. She gasped as they filled her. Then he spanked her again, but differently, almost more of a push. The kind of spanking she didn’t like because it didn’t sting enough, except it pushed her onto his fingers and drove them deeper. That felt very good indeed. She started to imagine what it would feel like to have them go all the way in, as deep as a big cock could go. She wondered how big his cock was. Was it hard now? She twisted her head, trying to see if she could see it tenting his jeans, but her shoulder was in the way.
Blue Desire Page 3
