She moved easily, languidly…this part of the game took no thought. It was the collection of little moments in which she laid herself bare for him, relinquishing control inch by inch until Master held her completely in his grasp, both figuratively and literally.
He waited until she was down to her underwear before he withdrew a coil of rope from the nightstand. Emily toed off her shoes, biting at her lower lip with anticipation. The collar had warmed against her skin, its weight a comforting reminder of her role, its surface a silky caress on her neck.
She watched Master tease the free end of the rope in his fingers, his gaze succinctly appraising her body.
“Go on, little one. Take it all off. Then bend over and show me that sweet, tight ass.”
She shivered, obeying without thought or question, even when her fingers stumbled on the hooks of her bra. She wanted the rope. She wanted him to tie her, use her…render her helpless and drive her crazy.
It was one of the things he did best, better than anybody.
Greg had a real talent with rope. He could get her any way he wanted with it, but it wasn’t all about the rigging. It started with his voice, with the way he could make her so calm and pliant just by the soothing timbre of his words, and before she knew it Emily would find herself being wrapped in beautiful loops of soft, white nylon rope.
That was how it happened now. His words had her snared long before he touched her, but she knew it was coming and she couldn’t keep from staring at the rope in his hands…waiting for its kiss against her skin.
She stripped naked—it was hard to feel as sexy getting out of pantyhose as it was stockings, but she did her best—and bent over as he’d asked, letting her gaze rest on the soft carpet as Master surveyed her bare body.
Emily bit her lip as Greg’s warm hand caressed the curve of her ass, then slapped lightly at the soft flesh. The movement reverberated throughout her center, setting off quivers of pleasure and an aching need that was hard to ignore. She fidgeted, not really holding her position the way he’d asked her to, and perhaps part of her hoped that Master would punish her for it.
Greg just chuckled and squeezed her butt fondly. “Put your arms behind your back, little one. I want your wrists now.”
Emily obeyed, her pulse rising as he gripped her arms firmly, pulling them back behind her so he held her securely…helplessly. She closed her eyes as the soft rope engulfed her wrists, smiling quietly to herself as he cinched it tighter.
“Very nice,” Greg murmured, his fingers stroking the back of her arm as he traveled over her flesh with knots and bights, reacquainting himself with every inch of her.
Emily let a long, slow breath slide between her lips, trying to hold firm under his touch. He did this when he bound her—touched and stroked and woke a fire in every part of her, just with his hands and his voice.
“Can’t keep my hands off you, little one,” he purred and she leaned her head back, the weight of her collar a soothing bloom at her throat as Greg moved her toward the bed.
She let him bind her, moving and positioning her as he wished until finally she was lying facedown on his bed, hogtied with her ankles and wrists together, her elbows pulled in and her whole body arched like a bent penny. Greg’s sheets smelled of synthetic jasmine fabric softener, and every inch of her skin tingled from the touch of his hands as he’d bound her, petting her while he tied her, making every truss and knot a gesture of sweetness.
Emily wriggled on the pale-blue coverlet, unable to free herself and, frustratingly, unable to see him. He was behind her, she knew. She could hear him stripping out of his suit and she wanted to watch that, but he’d slipped a small ball gag between her lips, so she couldn’t even complain about her enforced view of his headboard.
She flexed her wrists against the rope as she heard him approach the bed, squeezing her buttocks, tensing her thighs…every muscle cried out to be touched, and Emily gave vent to a loud groan when she finally felt his fingers close around her ankle.
Greg chuckled softly. He liked to tease her like this—these cruelly wanton little touches that lasted for minutes but felt as though they went on for hours. His fingertips tickled the soles of her feet, skimmed the length of her calves, her bound arms…toyed along her shoulders and wound themselves in her hair, pulling it firmly until she was obliged to tilt her neck back, increasing the bent curve of her body even farther. Her collar nudged at her throat, not enough to pinch but enough to remind her indisputably of its presence. The stretch throughout her frame flushed warmth and vigor into Emily’s limbs and she groaned again around the gag, sinking her teeth into the rubber ball as her eyes widened.
She was wet already. She knew that, and knew that Master knew it.
Her nipples chafed against the bedclothes, her lips tingling hungrily as his touch seared her skin, and she would have begged if it hadn’t been for the gag. The rope, for all its security and its sensuousness, silenced the language of her body too, no matter how hard she tried to part her thighs, but her pussy’s pleas were clear. A ragged, choked gasp left Emily’s throat as Master’s strong fingers pressed into her slit.
“Let’s see how wet you are for me, little one. My…very wet. Such a sweet, hot pussy. And this pretty little clit.”
He pressed his thumb down hard on the nub in question and she tried to buck against him, thwarted by her bonds. Greg chuckled and rubbed lazily along the length of her slit, never dipping fully between her lips, content to tease her with the growing weight of her own frustration.
Emily growled against her gag. He knew what being bound this way did to her. She got off so hard on being turned-on—wanting his cock, wanting that uninhibited, wild fucking he could give her, and not being able to get to it—that she would fight the very ropes that gave her the security to be so excited. And he knew just how to drive her crazy. He would tease and tease, touch her and taunt her gently with her own desire until she was half out of her head with need, and only then would he let her have it.
Tonight it was worse than ever. All her resentment, her frustration and anger over the violet wand seemed suddenly redoubled as she lay there, tied and helpless. Emily bit deep into the gag, squirming as Master’s fingers toyed with her pussy, hot pleasure pooling under his touch and yet never given full vent. It seemed to take an age until he finally thrust two fingers into her, dragging a squeak from her throat and an involuntary shudder from her flesh.
“You want me to fuck you?” he asked, bending low over her back, his heat and proximity blinding her to everything but the desire she felt for him. “Need it? Need this cock?”
Emily bared her teeth, groaning violently around the gag, fighting the ties that bound her and barely even aware of the soft, white, pure rope chafing at her skin. He took hold of her by the thighs, dragging her with ease across the bed, and she panted heavily, still fighting him because it wasn’t fast enough, it wasn’t hard enough… She heard the rustle of the condom wrapper, still nothing but the pale-blue bedclothes and the pine headboard in front of her. Visions of his body peopled her head—she could see every detail of his broad, strong frame, his thick, heavy cock. Her breaths came in gulps as her pussy shivered in anticipation. It almost seemed as if she could feel him already, driving within her, hard and relentless. She felt his warmth, his touch, the solidity of him behind her as he pushed her thighs apart, pulling her that little bit farther off the edge of the bed.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw stars, hardly daring to breathe even though her lungs ached for air. The tip of Master’s cock pressed between her lips and she pushed back hungrily, desperate to feel him fill her.
But he didn’t. He stayed like that, tormenting her until she screamed in frustration, his grip on her bound arms driving her as wild as her inability to break free.
Fuck me, she wanted to beg, to yell, to plead…and somehow that soul-deep, burning need became tied up with the resentful, shameful guilt from earlier, tainted with her anger and uncertainty. Greg finally thrust
into her, opening her pussy and breaking through the walls of her defenses, and Emily hollered through her gag, tears and saliva wetting her face. She clutched at his cock, her walls fluttering against his strokes as he sheathed himself in her over and over again, his rhythm ceaseless and certain.
This was her gift to him. As he used her, fucked her, pounded into her, she yielded to his need and lost herself in its tide. It was all she could do to hold on, the ache of her position long eroded by the consuming intensity of his thrusts, and she couldn’t hold back the searing, violent climax that soon poured through her flesh, washing away the guilt, the recriminations…pretty much all forms of coherent thought.
When he was done, Greg untied her and they slid beneath the bedclothes. He petted her again, soothing life and comfort back into all of her sore, stiff joints and muscles and giving her a safe, solid place to float back to.
In turn, as she lay across his chest, tucked into the comfortable seclusion of his arms, Emily pressed close to him, content and happy to share this time with him…to yield her submission to him and show him that he too was loved, cared for and trusted.
In that soft, silent part of the night, just before sleep stole over her, she supposed that, just maybe, trying out the wand wouldn’t be so bad.
Not as long as it was with him.
Chapter Three
Of course, by the time the weekend came around, Emily was vacillating again.
She almost decided to call Greg and tell him she couldn’t make it, but the desire to see him was far stronger than her nervousness. Besides, Emily hated to cancel plans. In the time they had been together—everything inching along at this slow, careful pace because he was so keen to let her go as gently as she needed to, even when what she wanted was fast and rough—she could count on one hand the number of times she’d canceled a date. Time with Master was important to Emily…even if she wasn’t sure she was going to enjoy the wand.
He told her to arrive early, setting her the task of preparing them both a meal. Emily was glad of that. It gave her something to focus on, enabling her to put the wand out of her mind for a little while, and she did enjoy cooking for Master.
Greg told her to stay her in the kitchen while he set up the table, and she thought that was a little odd, worried for a moment that he was going to prepare some elaborate kind of predicament for her…but she needn’t have been concerned.
As Emily brought in the seared salmon steaks, salad and lime dressing she’d made, she caught her breath at the transformation he’d effected in the sitting room. The little round table beside his bookcases had been covered with a white cloth, a narrow glass vase housing a single red rose in its center, and he’d dimmed the lights, the room filled with the warm glow of several candles that stood on the coffee table. Their dancing flames flickered, sending shadows spilling along the walls, and the softening wax gave off a slight fragrance of jasmine, reminding her of the way his sheets smelled and waking delicious memories beneath her skin.
Greg pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit. Emily set the plates down and obeyed, her gaze fixed on the velvety petals of the rose. She smiled at the realization this was probably his way of making up for Valentine’s Day. Today she had her flowers, her romantic meal…and everything would be okay.
He reached across the table, taking her hand in his briefly before he picked up his fork. The reflected candlelight glimmered in his eyes, turning their bluish gray to the color of rain-dampened stone.
“You know there are lots of different types of electricity, right?” he said quietly. “It’s not about pain. It won’t hurt. It can hurt, sure, but that metal tip? That’s like real edge play stuff, baby. We’re not going to do that. I’m not going to ask you to do that. You understand?”
Emily nodded. She believed him. She trusted him. Her apprehension remained, but the cold edge of fear had begun to fade and as they ate he was patient with her, his every word and movement calculated for kindness. It was a form of seduction, she supposed—a seduction that had never been part of the early days of their relationship, when he’d wanted her to find her own way to him, instead of exerting his influence over her. She enjoyed it. She liked the attention Greg was paying her, and the pains he went to in order to make her feel this at ease. By the time they got to dessert—just two store-bought slices of vanilla cheesecake to finish off what had been a very light meal, because nobody wanted to get athletic on a full stomach—Emily felt so calm, so cherished and wrapped in the security of his presence that she’d almost forgotten ever being afraid.
Greg topped off her glass of sparkling wine. She’d drunk less than half of it and he was staying on water, but the bubbles made her smile and the alcohol had ironed away a little of her earlier unease.
He talked as they ate. He’d been talking the whole time, bewitching her with his voice as he laid out his explanations of how the violet wand worked, how it would crackle and glow as the electricity flooded the smooth glass probes and how the current would be controlled. She knew he meant to reassure her, to demonstrate his understanding and show her he was completely in control…but Emily already knew that. He was her Master. Whether he knew it or not, there were times when he controlled almost every thought in her head. She had no doubt at all that, whatever he intended to do to her tonight, he had every detail taken care of. She would have expected nothing less.
She sipped her wine, feeling the flush of anticipation in her cheeks as the bubbles prickled on her tongue. Greg raised his eyebrows.
“Are you ready, little one?”
Emily swallowed heavily. As ready as she’d ever be, she supposed. Who knew? Maybe it wouldn’t be bad. Maybe it would be good. He made everything better just by being there, and even if she still wasn’t crazy about the electricity, she was comforted by the knowledge she was doing something he’d asked of her. She was his good girl, his eager playmate, ready to rise to the challenges he set her and acknowledging that together they could push the boundaries of her experiences. And instead of just being afraid, she could learn from them.
Put like that, Emily had to admit it sounded less scary, but she still wanted to take her glass of wine with her into the bedroom.
* * * * *
Master started off slowly this time, not like the fervid rush of last weekend, when he’d wanted so badly to possess her and she’d fed off his energy and off her own conflicted feelings. He let Emily finish her wine, then had her shed her clothes for him while he wound a soft spool of white nylon rope between his hands, his gaze devouring each inch of skin as she disrobed.
She didn’t have her collar on this time and at first she missed it, but Greg suggested she leave it off. The collar denoted special things to both of them, and tonight was about exploration. If Emily wanted to stop or slow things down or change what was happening, she must feel she had the freedom to do so without worrying about disappointing him.
Put like that, Emily felt better both about the prospect of the wand and her bare throat, and she smiled as Master prompted her to remove each garment.
She moved with careful precision, facing away from him as she unzipped her dress, letting the dark fabric fall away, baring her back before she unhooked her bra, slipping the straps from her shoulders. She slid out of the dress, her nipples peaking despite the air’s warmth, and heat pooled in the base of her belly. Her skin tingled until she was fairly convinced it was the physical sensation of Master’s gaze tracing her flesh.
Emily shivered as she removed her panties, letting them slide down her legs and drop to the floor. She was naked, open to him, bared and vulnerable. She wanted to turn around and see his face but she waited with her head half turned, her gaze fixed on the carpet. She could hear his soft footfalls as he moved on the other side on the room.
“Very nice, little one,” he said quietly, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Turn around and put your arms up.”
Emily obeyed. The lights were dimmed in here too, and Greg had brought in a coupl
e of the candles from the sitting room, maintaining that warm, comforting glow. She raised her arms above her head and watched the shadows dance on the walls as he came to her, the beautiful white rope trailing in his hands. She gasped as he slipped it around her waist, sliding the loop up her back and then holding it taut in one hand—as if it were a leash to pull her close. With the other, he reached out to caress her breasts. Emily’s eyelids fluttered closed as his warm, strong fingers skimmed her skin, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles across her left nipple. She had often wished her breasts were bigger, but the care and attention he lavished on them pushed all those thoughts right out of her mind.
“Open your eyes,” Greg murmured.
She did so, gazing up into his rough-hewn face. The candlelight had daubed shadows across his cheeks, hollowed out his eyes and painted a dark curve beneath his mouth. He looked proud, strong…hungry. Every submissive impulse in her quivered with the desire to melt into his hands, but Emily stayed as he’d asked her to, with her arms held up, her back straight and her thighs pressed together against the warmth pooling between her lips. The position might have been awkward if she’d been with anyone else, but somehow Greg managed to make her feel graceful. Something in the alchemy of submission changed her, made her act the way she wanted to believe he saw her, and it made her feel beautiful.
Greg pinched her nipple, drawing a soft gasp from her, and smiled.
“I’m going to bind you, and then you’re going to lie on the bed where I will tie you down. Then we will begin.”
The pulse jumped at the base of her throat and she breathed deeply, trying to catch the smell of his skin against her tongue. She wanted nothing more at that moment than for him to kiss her, but he lowered his head, focused on adjusting the bight of the rope.
Ultra Violet Page 2
