“Turn around again, little one. I need to make sure this is secure.”
Emily pivoted on her bare feet, staring at the white woodwork of his bedroom door while he began to work on the pearl harness that would cosset her breasts. Master looped the robe around her torso, holding it firmly so it wouldn’t slip and settling it just beneath her bust, with the bight in the center of her back. He passed the open ends of the rope through the loop, then up over her shoulders like straps, allowing them to hang down her chest, brushing against her flesh. Emily shivered in anticipation as he moved around her, taking hold of the rope’s loose ends in one hand and looping them through the first line of the harness, forming a knot between her breasts.
From there, he moved behind her again, taking the loose ends over her shoulders—every touch a subtle caress—and working a knot at the back of the harness, creating the second line of rope that would pass around the top of her bust, pinching her breasts between the bonds until they stood out like a pair of swollen pearls.
It was a simple enough shinju, similar to the body harnesses he sometimes allowed her to wear beneath her clothes. While Emily enjoyed that naughtiness, the secret of having his work next to her skin when they went out for a meal or to a movie, she loved this even more. The pearl harness started out feeling comfortable—she would barely notice it in the beginning—but gradually, as her arousal built, her breasts would strain within the bonds, peaking with tingling flame.
As Master continued with his knots and wraps, Emily’s nipples tightened almost as much as her stomach, tingling with the anticipation of what would come. She loved the way he tied her, and she loved this especially—the tension of the rope hugging her, biting into her soft flesh. Never tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to make her remember to whom she belonged.
She rocked gently with Greg’s movements, each tug and tightening of the rope encircling her ever more snugly. He pressed close behind her to complete his work, and Emily suppressed a shiver at his proximity, feeling the heat of his body against her bare back, the subtle skate of his thigh against the curve of her ass. He wore black jeans and a black button-down shirt and as he reached around her she felt the whisper of fabric against her skin. She wondered if he was hard, and she was very tempted to push her ass back against him, eager to feel his cock pressed into her…but Master was trying to concentrate and she had to be patient.
He kissed the back of her neck as he turned her around again to finish the knot at the front between her bound, pinched breasts, and her eyes closed again, the breath leaving her in a long sigh, part gratitude and part frustration, because she wanted more of him and yet he was already moving away.
“You can put your arms down now, little one. Come along. On the bed.”
Emily was a little disappointed that she wouldn’t be given any more rope. She enjoyed being his canvas and she knew—especially once she saw the look in Greg’s eyes and that proud little half-smile gracing his lips—just how much he loved working on her.
As she positioned herself on the bed, arms and legs obediently splayed where he showed her, the realization that he wanted as much of her skin bare as possible in order to use the wand upon it set off another skittering of anxiety in her. Emily licked her lips nervously, watching with quickening breaths as Master wove effortless cat’s paws around her wrists and ankles, then tied the shackles securely to the corners of the bed frame. She wriggled experimentally, more because it was something she always did than because she genuinely wanted to test the bindings, but perhaps Greg picked up some lingering hint of tension in her movement.
“Do you want to fight it, little one?” he asked softly, reaching down to stroke her hair.
Emily caught her breath. She hadn’t realized her heart had been beating so hard or that her gasps were so audible. She pressed her head into his hand, trying hard to rest her cheek against his palm, and that familiar impulse to fidget began to bloom in her. She wanted him—wanted closeness and contact and his hands on her—but she couldn’t get to him. She couldn’t reach, couldn’t move more than a tiny bit except for the center line of her body, and she bucked against the mattress once or twice, lifting her hips and squeezing her shoulder blades together. Her bound breasts stood at sharp attention, the warm air skimming her nipples like a knife, and Master regarded her coolly with that shadow-shrouded face, his fingers trailing slowly over her chest.
“Better?” he asked as she stilled, panting a little now she’d exhausted her initial struggles.
Emily nodded and he smiled.
“That’s my girl. You always have to fight it first, right?”
He stroked the curve of her waist, his palm so strong and warm against the sensitive places along her sides, and bent his fingers to tickle her just under her bottom rib. She twitched and twisted and they shared in the bubbling of smiles and laughter that rose between them.
The smile didn’t entirely leave Emily’s face when she glanced across the room and saw the case in which the violet wand sat, although the nervousness returned again with a vengeance.
Greg saw her look and he nodded slowly. “Still worried, I see. That’s disappointing.”
Emily’s smile did die then. She didn’t want to disappoint him. She hadn’t been tied long but she could already feel the security of her bindings stripping everything away, rocking her gently into that dreamy, warm place where she knew he would take care of her. She shook her head but she couldn’t find the right words to say that she wasn’t scared…because that would have been a lie.
“No?” Greg raised his eyebrows.
The room smelled quite strongly of jasmine now, the scent drifting up from the sheets on which she lay and wafting from the still-burning candles. The shadows danced on the walls above Emily’s head and she wriggled a little more, uncertainty tracing her flesh.
“You’re not worried?” Greg asked, cheerfulness injected into his voice as he moved around the bed, going to the toy box by his wardrobe. “I think you are, little one. But you shouldn’t be. It’s all fine. In fact, I think that before we’re done here, you’re going to be begging me to use the violet wand on you.”
Emily craned her neck to try to see what he was getting out of the box, but he had his back to her so she thumped her head back down on the pillow he’d taken care to position beneath her neck and mumbled a compliant “Yes, Master”.
Chapter Four
She should have known he wasn’t going to just leap into it. She was grateful for that, really…but the teasing was excruciating.
He started with the blindfold—just a simple strip of black satin wound once or twice around her head and tied tightly so she couldn’t see what was coming next. At first Emily almost panicked, afraid he’d use the wand on her without her being ready, but Master pushed that notion aside forcefully.
He started with a feather fan. She recognized it at once, knowing the feeling of it on her skin as though it were an old friend. He trailed it over her arms, her legs, her stomach, warming her up with soft, teasing strokes. She shivered a little at each pass of the feathers, never quite able to predict where he’d touch her next. Just as she was growing used to the game, Greg switched up the tempo. He began running his hands over her with his fingers loosely curled, his short, blunt nails ever so lightly scraping her skin and, behind the blindfold, Emily couldn’t tell whether to expect the softness of feathers or the rake of nails against her flesh.
She squirmed, shivering as the alternating, shifting sensations raised all kinds of hell within her. She knew her nipples were rock hard, like chips of stone crowning her swollen, sensitized breasts, straining for his attention, and her pussy ached to be touched because her clever Master was so very expert at absolutely avoiding all the places she needed him most. Not until she was ready to beg would he touch her there…and maybe not even then.
The frustration of being bound and helpless started to wear on Emily—that familiar fire of yearning inside her that made her grit her teeth and growl through them
, tugging at the ropes that bound her and bowing her body against the bed.
At once Greg withdrew completely, and she cried out in lustful aggravation. That wasn’t fair! She bit her lip, stifling a moan.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she murmured, her tongue feeling thick and awkward inside her mouth. “Sorry. Please… Please, Master?”
“Just a moment, little one,” he said, and she whimpered at the sound of his footsteps crossing the room.
Where was he going? Was he getting the wand? Emily pressed her head back into the pillow, the knot of the blindfold digging in just above her nape.
She waited because he’d told her to, but all she had to focus on was her own body and the sizzling bursts of sensation that still sparked in her flesh. She was so wet and so very eager… Everything felt hyperintensified, as if even the air had a texture, and her impatience had rolled over into itself, becoming a new form of pleasurable torment that stretched out her nerves and played them like a lute. Emily ground her teeth and tried to breathe slowly, secure in the knowledge that any moment Master would be back and he would take care of her…even if that meant the violet wand.
Greg returned as she was taking another deep breath, counting to three before she exhaled again.
“Good girl,” he observed. “Nice and calm. Are you waiting for me, little one? Waiting for me to touch you?”
Emily stifled a groan. He knew she was, the bastard, but she nodded anyway.
“Y-yes, Master,” she managed, hearing the thickening of lust in her voice, her lips stumbling a little over the words. “Please…”
“Please what?” he asked. “You want the wand? You want me to zap you, hmm?”
Behind the blindfold, Emily squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She was scared, she realized—more scared than she’d thought she’d be and more scared than she’d been since before dinner—but her body seemed to have other ideas. Her pussy clenched at his words and every inch of her skin felt as if it were shimmering with this terrible anticipation. She was sure if she could see herself she’d be glowing…and that was the silliest thought but she couldn’t shake it.
Her mouth quivered as she mumbled a response to his question and she could hear the rustle of Greg’s clothes as he moved closer, leaning down over her naked, rope-sheathed body, his breath warming her neck.
“What did you say, little one?”
Emily turned her head to the side, urgently seeking his face, filled with need for him. “Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Please. Yes. I… Yes.”
She felt the soft huff of his breath as he smiled, chuckling lightly, and stroked her hair.
“All right, little one.”
Emily rolled her head back onto the pillow and bit the inside of her lip. Her heart was thudding, her body strung tighter than a bowstring as she waited, listening to Master’s movements. He was picking something up, moving around the room…she was certain it was the wand, and then she heard something like the clink of ice cubes in a glass. Had he stopped to pour himself a drink? The absurdity of the image made her squeeze her eyes shut so hard she saw bursts of neon blue behind her eyelids, and she clenched her hands into fists around the rope shackles, the smooth nylon soft beneath her palms.
“You better be ready for this,” Greg said quietly.
Emily whimpered in response, her mind melting into a single thread of white fire, incapable of coherency. Being blindfolded while he used the wand wasn’t scary anymore…she didn’t want to see. It was too easy to picture the crackle of electricity, and she flinched just at the picture in her mind before he even drew close to her.
The first touch was on her inner thigh—cold, sharp, and not at all the way she expected. It felt like heavy fabric, almost like rubber or something, but the sensation changed as it moved over her flesh. Emily gasped as the coldness flickered across her skin, up toward the tender junction of her thighs. It felt sharp, almost. A little like the tip of a knife being traced slowly over her body, and she started to fight her ropes again, tugging hard at her wrist shackles as her whole body jolted, partly in fear and partly in the most unimaginably intense arousal she’d ever felt.
She wanted it. Whatever the hell he was doing, she wanted more. She’d have taken anything from him at that point. Anything he cared to give her. Everything. Just as long as he didn’t stop touching her. Except he was getting closer and closer to her pussy, and Emily felt the cold whips of panic ripping at her mind. The things that she pictured behind her eyes, the things she was afraid of seemed to loom larger and larger, and she felt rather than heard the choked, frightened gasp that left her throat. A wild, high-pitched cry.
At that, Master pulled away and leaned over her to tug the blindfold off. Emily screwed up her eyes, getting used to the dim candlelight again as she let her gaze settle on Greg’s broad-shouldered frame. She focused on his eyes, those beautiful chips of gray-blue slate, and the security she found in them, shuddering as he put his hand flat on her chest, just below the pearl harness and her pinched, hypersensitive breasts. He breathed with her for a moment, bringing her back down, calming her with his strength and his kindness. The shadows that danced on the walls seemed to lengthen and soften around him.
As Emily calmed down, her gaze drifted to his other hand and she frowned in confusion. He wasn’t holding the violet wand. He was holding another toy she recognized—a plastic-handled whip about fourteen inches long, with tongues made of tiny metal balls strung on to chains.
Suddenly everything slotted into place and, sure enough, as she glanced at the nightstand, she saw a cup of iced water into which Master had evidently dipped the metal whip. Blindfolded, she couldn’t tell what it was, couldn’t identify the sensations caused by that tricky, devilish little thing, and that stunned her, because they’d played with it before. She knew what it felt like. She knew how easily ice and heat changed the feeling of those tiny lengths of chain, and she couldn’t believe how effectively Greg had manipulated her mind.
She looked up at him, unsure whether she wanted to hate him or call him an evil genius, but he was just grinning at her and all she could manage to feel was a desperate flood of longing. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his hard-on evident within his jeans, but she knew he wasn’t done playing yet.
Hell, he hadn’t even gotten started!
“I guess that was a little cruel,” Greg admitted as he gave her a moment to recover from the mean trick of the whip.
Emily shook her head, resting back against the pillow, every single nerve in her body still flaming and a prickle of sweat itching along her spine. Did he have any idea what he did to her?
“But,” he added, “you see how much of it’s in your mind, little one? And did you hear yourself beg? Did you hear how you asked me for it, hmm?”
He was moving the whip slowly over her stomach as he spoke, twirling the little chains around the hollow of her navel. She nodded clumsily. She knew. It was an unsettling feeling, finding that her body was doing all the talking and demanding things she suspected she was still afraid of…but maybe it was all right. Her Master wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. He knew what she wanted, what she needed. He knew how to make it good.
Emily found herself opening her thighs wider as he stroked the whip across her skin and a long groan left her as he trailed the cold metal beads along her slit. It was the first time all night anything had touched her pussy, and the flood of pleasure that hit her made her jump, her body jolting and her hips pushing up in response, following that simple little touch.
Greg grinned. “Ah-ah. I think you’re ready, little one.”
Emily moaned softly and lay back while he moved away, crossing to the box that held the wand and its assorted attachments. This was it, then. This was everything she both wanted and feared.
She tried hard to put the memories of Connor and the vendor with the metal tip out of her mind—that sudden scorch of pain and humiliation—but they still bubbled up a little, even when Greg moved back to her side.
&nbs
p; “Here,” he said quietly, pressing a long, smooth metal handle into her palm. “This is the contact probe. You remember how I explained about this?”
Emily nodded dumbly. She knew he’d talked it all through over dinner—they’d been through it a dozen times because he wanted to be so sure she understood—but right now, she was barely capable of remembering her own name. Master seemed to appreciate that, because he sighed and bent down by her head, taking her chin in his fingers and making her look at him and when he spoke, his words were as slow and clear as he could make them.
“Hold on to that, all right? This handle is the contact probe. It’s what the current passes through. If you hold it tight, you won’t feel the electricity in your hand but it’ll be in your body. You’ll feel it when I touch you. So if you want anything to stop, at any time, you just let go of the handle. Okay?”
His gaze bored into hers, unwavering and intense, the candlelight painting beautiful spears of gold and orange across his face. Emily’s lips parted, a small, dry “yes” slipping from her throat as she lost herself in his eyes. Part of her still wanted to fight, to struggle in that madness of intensity, desperate to get to him…but he was already here, already with her. Washed by the tide of her desire, trembling under the weight of it, she was ready to give in and ready to do anything, take anything for him. Wet, aching and readier than she ever remembered being, she lay still beneath his touch, silent and acquiescent.
“Good girl,” Greg whispered, cupping her cheek briefly, his fingertips tracing the corner of her lips, the curve there mirrored in the soft smile he gave her. “Good girl, my little one.”
She felt it as a physical ache when he moved away, even deeper than the throbbing of her bound breasts and the needy pulsing of her clit. Holding her breath, Emily stared at the ceiling as she waited for him to bring the violet wand over. She watched the shadows skip along the molding and squeezed the cool metal of the contact probe in her fingers, feeling it gradually begin to warm against her skin.
Ultra Violet Page 3
