by Nina Mason
He wanted to comfort her while he worked with her, and thought music was as good a way to do it as any.
Satisfied with his game plan, he climbed off the bed, crossed to his wardrobe, and selected his costume for today’s performance: skintight riding breeches, a ruffled shirt, a leather waistcoat, and tall boots. As he dressed, the memory of kissing Miss Darling came into his mind. God, how he’d enjoyed that wee slip. When the time came, he’d enjoy banging her brains out just as much, if not more.
Humming with exhilaration, he took his iPod out of the player and went down to the dining room. Having instructed Gavin to leave the hatch open and the passageway torches lit after showing Miss Darling to the playroom, he was pleased to find everything to his specifications.
Upon entering the playroom, he found Miss Darling kneeling near the door with her gaze downcast and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was relieved to find her there. A small part of him had feared she might lack the courage to go through with her therapy. He was also pleased she’d followed his instructions. Her willingness to submit to his authority filled him with hope.
That she did not back down from a challenge boded well for what the future held in store. Cowardice would not serve her well on her quest to break his curse.
Closing the door behind him, he saw she’d hung the dressing gown on the hook on the back. Good girl. He walked softly to the chest where he kept his clamps and inserted the iPod into the blue-tooth docking station.
“You will speak only when spoken to,” he said commandingly, “and will always address me as Lord and Master. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
Again, he was delighted with her acquiescence. For this to work, she must surrender her will completely. Leaving her kneeling, he went into the adjoining room to check if Mrs. King, too, had carried out his instructions. She had. The four-poster bed was made up with fresh sheets, the leather wrist cuffs were in place, and the spreader bar was resting on the nightstand.
Returning to the chest of drawers, he withdrew a blindfold, a Wartenberg pinwheel, four wooden clothespins, and a fur glove. Today would be about experiencing tactile sensation on both ends of the spectrum.
He took all the items into the adjoining room and laid them out beside the spreader before returning to the iPod station. As anticipation was half the fun, he left Miss Darling to dangle by design. Removing the wireless headphones from their charger, he went to where his partner knelt and lorded over her for several minutes while silently admiring her. With her head dipped and her hair shimmering in the candlelight, she looked serene and docile, the quintessence of a good submissive.
“You look perfect, Miss Darling. Thank you for being so obedient.” Bending to her level, he lifted her face until her eyes met his. “Today, I’m going to push you past what you believe you can handle, but I want you to trust me, and only use your safe word if you genuinely can’t tolerate what I’m doing to you. Is that understood?”
She nodded and licked her lips. The sight of that pink tongue lit a sweet fire in his groin. “May I change my safe word, Lord and Master?”
It seemed an odd thing to ask, but he saw no reason to deny her request. “Of course you may, but why?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Fine,” he said, eager to get on with it. “What safe word would you like to use instead?”
“Mercy.”
He released her chin and stepped back. “All right, then. Mercy shall be your safe word for today’s proceedings, but don’t use it just because you experience discomfort. I’m going to interweave pleasant and unpleasant sensations in this session. The experience will be intense, but I want you to give it a chance. Do you understand?”
Her expression remained placid and unreadable, which, though unhelpful, was preferable to fear.
“This is about touch and rewiring your negative associations, Miss Darling. You will not be able to see or hear me, but you will be able to feel with heightened sensitivity what I’m doing to you.”
Her face remained serene. Good, that meant she was game. He offered her his hand. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet and led her toward the inner sanctum. At the footboard, he stopped, turned her toward the bed, and moved close enough to breathe in her citrusy scent.
“I am going to cuff your wrists and ankles to the bedposts, Miss Darling,” he said, fighting the compulsion to touch her. “First, however, I’m going to blindfold you and cover your ears with these headphones. All you will hear is the music I’ve selected to accompany our time together. I want you to concentrate on the music, including the lyrics. Do you understand me, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
“Good. Now, while I go start the music, I want you to lay down on the bed with your arms and legs spread out while you imagine yourself in a safe place.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Give it your best effort, Miss Darling.” He fought the temptation to put his arms around her. “For the sake of the experience as well as its long-term benefits.”
Leaving her to prepare, he returned to the dresser and selected the first tune to set the mood: Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.” Then, as an afterthought, he took down a soft-tailed flogger from the wall of toys.
Returning to the bed, he was vexed to find her sitting on the edge of the mattress looking through the items he’s laid out on the nightstand. This wasn’t good on any level. Chiding himself for not blindfolding her before he left her alone, he stood there a moment considering how best to punish her disobedience. He was torn. On the one hand, disciplining her before they even got started might scare her and jeopardize her trust in him. On the other, his methods demanded total compliance.
“You are being very naughty, Miss Darling.”
Turning, she stared at him with the glassy eyes of a frightened doe. “What are the clothespins for?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” he said in an even voice that belied his conflicted feelings. “Now lay down on the bed as you were told or I shall have no choice but to take you over my knee.”
Color touched her cheeks. “But…you promised not to hit me.”
“And you promised to obey my every command and call me Lord and Master,” he said, scowling at her.
Biting her trembling lower lip, she shifted her gaze to the flogger in his hand. Fear swam in her eyes as she regarded the whip. “What’s that for?”
“Your reclamation, Miss Darling. If you continue as you are, we cannot be together. I thought I made that clear.”
“You did.”
“Then I can only presume by your defiance that you’ve decided to remain as you are, which is, of course, your prerogative. It is not, however, acceptable to me in a partner.”
“I-I haven’t decided that.” Her distressed gaze jumped from the flogger to his. “I-I want to be with you. More than anything.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, feigning a coldness he didn’t feel, “because I want to be with you, too, but we can’t be together as long as you recoil from my touch or find sexual relations repulsive.”
The fear in her eyes turned to contrition. “I understand, Lord and Master.”
“Good girl,” he said. “Now stand and take hold of the bedpost with both hands.”
“Why?”
He compressed his lips and narrowed his eyes. His patience was wearing thin. “Just do as I say, Miss Darling. Unless you would rather get dressed and take a ride to the police precinct in Nairn.”
Chewing her lip, she rose from the bed and, with suspicion swimming in her eyes, assumed the requested stance.
“Good.” He tossed the headphones onto the bed and ran the flogger’s soft suede tails through his fingers. “Now stick out your delectable arse, Miss Darling—and do not even think about asking me why.”
When she did as he asked, he ran the flogger gently over her behind. “Does that hurt?”
“No, Lord and Master.
”
“Your fear of physical pain is natural, Miss Darling, but the trauma you associate with sex is not. I’m here to help you sever those associations, so you can enjoy intimacy instead of shrinking from it. Will you let me help you?”
She hesitated, then said quietly, “Yes, Lord and Master.”
She looked so tempting in her present posture, gripping the bedpost with her lovely posterior offering itself to him. He could scarcely bear the pleasure it gave him. He threw the flogger on the bed, and ran his fingers down her sides, past the soft swell of her hips, and across the globes of her buttocks. She shuddered under his caresses, thrilling him further. Inside his tight breeches his cock was marble-hard, and had been since the moment he’d entered the playroom to find her kneeling like a religious postulant.
Religion. Ha. Don’t get me started.
He dropped to his knees, took hold of her hips, and kissed and licked the cheeks of her bum, one after the other. The scent of her sex hooked his nose, provoking a violent surge of desire. Moisture leaked from the hole in his glans. Trembling with need, he moved his right hand between her legs. As he twirled his forefinger around her clitoris, he said, “Healing will mean pushing, sometimes painfully, through your self-imposed limitations and stepping outside your comfort zone. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
“Do you trust me to help you break the chains that bind you in fear and isolation, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
“Good. Now, go lie down on the bed as I originally instructed.”
He spanked her lovely behind once very lightly. She jumped, startled, and hurried to the bed. She climbed onto the mattress and reclined with her arms and legs outstretched, just as he’d specified. Her gaze, shimmering with excitement and fear, held his as he moved around to her side.
Sitting on the bed, he lifted her left arm and secured the cuff before moving around to do the same on the opposite side. With that done, he returned to the nightstand, took up the blindfold, and again sat beside her on the bed.
“Raise your head, Miss Darling.”
Once she’d done as he’d ordered, he put the blindfold in place, then the headphones. That was it. She could no longer see or hear him. Now, she could only experience the things he did to her body with heightened awareness.
Circling to the foot of the bed, he cuffed each of her ankles to the footboard bedposts before standing back to admire his handiwork. Her lips were parted, her nipples were hard, and a fine dusting of goose pimples covered her flushed skin. She had bravely put herself in his hands—a trust and responsibility he took seriously.
Putting on the rabbit-fur mitt, he walked slowly around the bed, drinking her in from every angle. Bending over her, he set his gloved hand on her sternum and left it there, giving her time to acclimate to his touch. She inhaled jaggedly and squirmed a little, but didn’t seem overly stressed. When she settled, he ran the glove over her breasts, circling the perimeter of each before softly brushing the fur across her nipples. The soft moan she emitted in response called another pearl of pre-cum.
He took a steadying breath and moved southward, over her ribcage and belly, then across to her left hipbone and down the leg. On the return trip, he swept the mitt along her inner thigh and over her sex before working his way down the other leg. The journey ended back at her sex, where he teased her with the fur’s sensual softness before returning the glove to the nightstand.
Taking a breath, he picked up two clothespins, circled around to the foot of the bed, and bent over her sex. As he teased her clitoris with the his left hand, he attached the clamp with his right—to the edge of her labia majora, parallel to her vaginal opening. She jerked and made a sound as the clasp bit down. She did not, however, invoke her safe word. Encouraged, he switched hands and continued fingering her clit while he applied the other clothespin to the same place on the other side.
There. The preliminaries were out of the way without undue objections. He was hopeful—and proud of her—but the test was far from over. As he withdrew from her, he brushed his fingers over the tails of the clothespins. She gasped and shuddered, just as he hoped she would. Leaving the clamps to do their work, he went into the main room and selected a sex toy from the dresser: a curved, multi-speed vibrator designed to stimulate the clitoris and g-spot in unison.
He turned on the toy and set the desired speeds before returning to the bedroom. She looked remarkably relaxed, all things considered, but the worst (and best) was yet to come. Bending over her sex, he removed the clamps and blew softly on the innervated area as he pushed the vibrator into her. As he positioned the humming rubber fingers against her sweet spot, she bucked her hips and cried out.
“Holy shit. What are you doing to me?”
Smiling at her response, he stroked his impatient cock as he worked the dildo in, out, and around. When it came time to fuck her, he’d use the same rolling motion.
He fixed his gaze on her mouth, looking for subtler proof she was enjoying herself. Her mouth was agape and her breathing was labored—two good signs. Now, should he let her come off or withhold orgasm?
Deciding to make her wait, he took her to the edge before removing the toy and setting it aside. Picking up the flogger, he brushed the tails across her breasts and belly. She arched her back, twisted her hips, and strained against her bonds with every gentle lash. The same music she was listening to was pouring softly from the small corner-mounted speakers. Madonna’s breathy voice telling him he didn’t know what pain was. Oh, he knew all right. The agonies he’d endured had damaged him every bit as much as the woman on the bed.
His redemption, however, was not what he was after today. Or maybe it was, through hers.
She was Jesus Christ and he was the Roman Centurion, flogging his innocent flesh so she could fulfill her appointed destiny.
Agnus Dei, miserere mei.
Agnus Dei, ablue peccata.
Agnus Dei, maledictum meum.
With exultation that was almost religious in nature, Leith swiped the flogger over Miss Darling’s blameless flesh, which, like Christ’s, had been despoiled by the evils of mankind. She arched up and cried out, pulling on her restraints as she writhed atop the fresh sheets. God, how he wanted to set her free—not just from the cuffs he’d put her in, but also from her inner chains that held her in bondage.
He flogged her again, harder this time. Still no safe word. Miss Darling, to his delight, was embracing her suffering.
When Madonna stopped signing, he tossed the flogger away and, panting with need, picked up the pinwheel. The flogging had brought the blood to the surface, tinting her pale skin the perfect shade of rosy pink.
Positioning himself at the foot of the bed, he ran the pinwheel up the center of her left leg, over her mons pubis, and down her right. Her flesh twitched where the spikes bit, but she made no sound.
Good girl.
Next, he rolled the device up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, over her spread-open sex. She gasped and bit her lip but, to his delight, did not beg for “mercy.”
He moved around to the side of the bed, leaned over her chest, and rolled the pinwheel in a line across her nipples. Though she groaned and squirmed, she didn’t complain.
He sucked and nibbled her nipples, one after the other, eliciting a moan from her that tugged on his cods like a fish on a line. Reaching between her legs, he teased her clit as he paid oral homage to her breasts until she was teetering on the brink of climax.
Withdrawing from her, he opened the drop-fly of his breeches, freeing his erection. The head was painfully engorged and as slick with pre-cum as her nipples were with his saliva. He rubbed his thumb across the empurpled head, inciting a riot of searing pleasure. Pinching the neck between his forefinger and thumb, he ran the pinwheel back and forth across the highly sensitive dome. His whole body shook as equal doses of pleasure and pain besieged his system.
The song changed to “Venus in Fur
s”—his cue to shift gears. Returning the pinwheel to the nightstand, he took up two more clothespins and, leaning over her, carefully clamped one on each of her nipples.
She flinched, hissed, and cried, “What in the name of Tinker Bell…?”
Amused by the innocence of the exclamation, he took the headphones off her and set them aside. “I’ve clamped your nipples, Miss Darling. The discomfort you feel now is nothing compared to what it will be when I take them off. In the interim, I plan to fuck your mouth.”
She bit her lip, but kept quiet, which he interpreted as consent. Straddling her chest, he ran his fingers over her lips.
“Please, Lord and Master. I’ll suck your dick if you really want me to, but please don’t come in my mouth.”
“Is that a hard limit?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
He considered asking her why, but decided against it. He had no intention of coming in her mouth (not this time, anyway), so her squeamishness with regard to semen seemed irrelevant at this juncture.
“Open your mouth.” When she did as he asked, he thrust his thumb between her lips. “Now suck it, Miss Darling. Do to my thumb what you’d like to do to my cock.”
Though she sucked the digit with a disappointing lack of zeal, his cock was still envious. When he could bear the aching no longer, he removed his thumb, gripped his erection, and moved closer to that temptingly sweet mouth of hers.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Her lips parted and out darted the pointed pink tip. As he brushed the innervated head of his penis across her warm, wet tastebuds, pleasure rocketed through him. When she failed to take the initiative and go further, he wondered if she had a problem giving oral sex in general. If she did, she needed to get over her aversion at once.
“Surely you can do better than that, Miss Darling.”
To his delight, she rose to the challenge. He watched with breathless enjoyment as her lips closed around the head. When she flicked the end of her tongue against the eye, he muttered, “Sancte Christe, miserere mei.”
