Committed

by Sidney Bristol

  “You’ll pay for that,” he promised, in a low, sensual tone. Still holding her against him, his hands coasted over her back, along her waist, as if he were mapping her body.

  She was beginning to realize that he was a lot more dangerous and devastating than she’d thought. Not that her safety was in question. House Surrender was supposed to be safe, heavily monitored on a closed-circuit surveillance system. On top of that, all of the guests were vetted before attending. It was one of the reasons the price tag was so high.

  “Let’s lose this.” Her dom stepped back and untied the belt at her waist.

  The silky fabric fell open, the corners slapping against her knees, the hem whispering around her legs. She’d worn a thong and a lingerie piece made up mostly of see-through black fabric and a plumping bra. How did she look to him? What was his expression? Not knowing was driving her crazy.

  A single finger tapped her collarbone, then slid slowly down her chest. Her breathing hitched as he dipped between the swells of her breasts, plumped as high as a great bra could make them go.

  “Very nice,” he purred, his face so close to her own she had no idea how she hadn’t realized he was there.

  He wiggled his finger between her breasts at the point where the fabric inhibited his progress.

  “Come on.” His hands took hers again and he gently pulled her forward. His feet made no sound as they walked. Had he removed his shoes? He’d definitely taken his shirt off, she’d felt that for herself.

  He led her to something, his hold changing to her shoulders, directing her to stop and turn slightly, then shuffle forward.

  What was he doing?

  “I’m going to place your hands and feet where I want them. Trust me that I’m not going to let you fall.”

  Poppy nodded. Someone as detail oriented as he seemed to be wasn’t the type to be thoughtless, she hoped.

  A whoosh of air was her only warning before something hard cracked against her bottom. The sound, more than the pain blossoming over the globe of her ass, was startling. She yelped and rocked forward, but he caught her, bringing his arm around her waist.

  “When I speak to you, I expect a reply,” he growled into her ear.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered quickly.

  Adrenaline and a thrill of fear coursed through her veins.

  Oh, he was going to be fun.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She grinned. “I do, sir.”

  “Good.” He stroked her ass, heat radiating from where he’d smacked her. If there was a God, she didn’t look ridiculous wearing a thong.

  His hold changed, arm sliding to her shoulder, the heat of his body aligning with her back.

  “Take a small step forward,” he directed her.

  She did as asked and his hand wrapped around hers. He lifted it and placed it on something wooden, a little thicker than her wrist.

  “Hold on to that, but not too tight. Treat it like my cock.”

  Poppy slid her hand around the girth, worn smooth with age, it seemed.

  The dom was a silent presence at her back. Was he watching? Did he see what she’d do to him, given the opportunity?

  When she was satisfied testing her grip around the wood, she stroked it, up and down, running into something above and below.

  “Tease,” he said, just over her shoulder.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He placed her other hand where he wanted it and nudged the back of her thigh with his knee.

  “Lift your foot.”

  She did as he asked, and was directed to put her foot up on something narrow.

  Something like the rung of a ladder.

  Poppy grinned and let the dom guide her up onto the ladder.

  “Perfect. Stay right there for a moment.”

  She was intrigued. Where was this going? She tilted her head to the side and listened to him rummage in his toy bag behind her. Soon he was back, his hand between her shoulder blades, caressing her gently in a way that had her heart hammering in her chest.

  When something rough dragged along her inner thigh, Poppy jumped.

  “You are so damn quiet,” she grumbled as the rough object slowly brushed her skin, up and down.

  He chuckled and her mind skittered off, wondering what he found so funny. He was doing a great job of keeping her on edge.

  That was the problem—turning off her brain so she could just feel. He’d almost accomplished it by just placing her sightless on the bed, but she’d gathered bits of herself back again.

  “Slide your feet out as far as you can,” he ordered.

  Poppy did as he asked, placing her feet at the very edges of the ladder rung. It was wide enough that only her toes hung off; she didn’t know how long she’d be able to perch there, otherwise.

  “Very good.” He stroked her side with his hand and she cursed the flimsy material that kept her from feeling him now.

  He looped something around her knee.

  Rope.

  It was rope.

  Holy shit.

  He was restraining her, tying her to the ladder.

  Poppy gripped the ladder and resisted a shudder at the sensation of what had to be a hemp-blend rope binding one of her knees to the ladder. Rope bondage was one of the things she was most curious about.

  The feel of the fibers running over her skin, hugging her calf, was new and different. The texture, and even the smell of it, heightened her sensual awareness.

  “I think you like my little plan.” Fabric rustled, maybe as he stood? Poppy tilted her head to better hear him. Heat seared her back, hands were placed over hers, and she felt his lips move against her ear. “Do you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Poppy gulped. Oh, he was good. She needed that other knee tied soon, before they both went all weak and she oozed to the ground in a puddle.

  His hand circled her waist, splaying over her stomach. His pinky finger rested just over her belly button, and she had to resist the urge to suck her stomach in. Not because she was self-conscious, but because she was incredibly ticklish there.

  As suddenly as he wrapped himself around her, he uncoiled and left her clinging to the ladder. He returned a moment later, looping the rope around her waist and the wooden frame.

  “For support. Just in case,” he said in front of her. She caught the scent of mint and toothpaste on his breath.

  “What exactly do you have planned, sir?” she asked.

  “That’s for me to know—”

  “And me to find out. I get it.” If she hadn’t been wearing a blindfold, he would have seen her roll her eyes.

  “Something like that. Elbows against the ladder, Rapunzel.” He tapped her arm.

  Poppy adjusted her arms as he requested.

  “What brought you here?” He looped the rope back and forth, doing some sort of knotting or fastening from elbow to wrist; she couldn’t be sure without seeing him do it, but that is certainly what it felt like.

  The implication of just how immobile she was about to be was slightly intimidating. The most a play partner had ever done to restrain her was to use cuffs to bind her at her ankles and wrists. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

  “I wanted to experience something different.” She’d read about decadent, kinky retreats, vacation spots and the like. When she’d found House Surrender her dreams seemed to have come true.

  And now they actually were.

  “What kind of different? We’re all a shade of different here.” He moved her other elbow into position and began the binding process all over again.

  “I don’t know. Just something new.” She’d wanted what the heroines in her books had, an adventure. Something exciting. And then she’d met this dom, and that fantasy seemed to be coming to life.

  “How long have you been in the lifestyle?” His questions were typical of people in the scene getting to know each other. That he was binding her to a ladder while she wore nothing but a thong and lingerie could also be considered normal in a BDSM environment, b
ut it still had her blood simmering.

  “Publically, about three years.”

  “Before that?”

  “A few boyfriends tried some kinky stuff, but it was never what I wanted.” Discovering the kinky world and venturing into the club had opened her eyes. If her conservative mother could see her now, she’d pop a vessel.

  “Are you involved with anyone?”

  “Do you mean romantically or otherwise?” With the kinky types, a girl couldn’t get too specific. Open relationships, poly arrangements, and assorted couplings were commonplace.

  His weight pressed her against the ladder, squeezing her between the wooden rungs and his hot, hard body. She gasped in surprise and gripped the handholds even tighter.

  “In the traditional sense,” he said against her ear.

  Poppy’s traitorous body shivered. His sheer strength was impressive.

  “No. No one.” Her breath came out in little pants, from both the restriction on her rib cage and from the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  “Good. I’m not fond of playing with someone else’s toys. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, what are we going to do with this hair?” He pushed her locks over her left shoulder and nuzzled the right side of her neck, scattering little kisses up her spine.

  Poppy bowed her head, resting her brow on a rung, and let herself feel. Her toes were a little cold, but the rest of her was warmed by his body. The rope had settled around her arms in a comfortable, though constricting manner. She could smell the scent of plastic, leather, oil, and him.

  “We’re going to have fun together, aren’t we?” His hands slid down her body, and his mouth followed until her clothing barred his passage. He positioned her other knee and tied it as he had the first.

  She hoped they had lots of kinky, hot, sweaty fun. The memories of this night she’d take home and hoard would probably see her through the coming months.

  Chapter Three

  Damien circled Rapunzel, committing all of her to memory. Her clothing. The way the red rope contrasted with her pale skin, especially near her tattoo. He hadn’t been able to see it earlier, but now he could take it in. Three birds fluttered around a cluster of branches, with a bright, blue sky behind them, framed by purple, pink, and fuchsia blossoms. One flower in particular seemed to be staring at him, but that was silly. He ran his hand over the design, tracing it with his fingers, enjoying the silky-smooth texture of her skin.

  The ladder rungs perfectly framed her face, breasts, and pelvis. He could have done without the nightie, but it added a softer edge to their play. At least for now.

  He ducked under the ladder again and studied her face. She moved her head from side to side in small increments, searching for him, he guessed, so he held still. She licked her full lips and her hands fidgeted within the restraints.

  He hadn’t played with many switches, but they were all different and unique, in the way a submissive or slave wasn’t. Some switches never truly gave up control. Others could switch into the complete mindset of a submissive. There were others who were smart-asses and never shut up. He’d bet that without the blindfold she’d have fallen into that category, but the blindfold placed her outside of her comfort zone, allowing her to yield to him.

  And now she was his.

  At least for tonight, and maybe the whole weekend.

  He wouldn’t speculate beyond that.

  Damien stepped forward and a board squeaked. Inwardly, he cursed, as she started and turned her face to where he now stood.

  “Damn you, I almost jumped out of my skin,” she said, with a mix of humor and fire in her voice.

  “Got to keep you on your toes.” He’d have to remember that board.

  Damien tipped her chin up to the perfect angle. Her body relaxed against the ropes and her lips parted. She took comfort in his touch. Good.

  He had to tilt his head to get between the ladder rungs. He braced himself for the feel of her lips on his, but the first whisper of contact sent a punch of desire to his gut. He clamped his hand around the ladder and pressed against her harder. She opened her mouth to him and let him take control of the kiss.

  The urge to stay there, kissing her until she screamed for more, held appeal, but she hadn’t come for simple kisses. Damien pulled back, gasping for air and holding on to the ladder. She panted for breath, her breasts heaving ever so nicely.

  First, the blindfold had to go.

  Damien reached through the ladder and undid the knot holding the silk in place. He let it fall to the floor, and stroked her smooth, shiny hair.

  Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks before her eyes slowly opened. Her gaze was a little unfocused, but she wasn’t going to be an easy one to throw off-balance.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello, yourself.”

  “You okay? Anything hurt in a bad way?”

  She took a moment, moving her arms and legs, straining against the ropes. “No.”

  Damien clicked his tongue and walked around her, dragging his hand along her abdomen as he went.

  “I’m going to have to remind you that you agreed to call me sir, aren’t I?” He selected a flogger with close to fifty suede tails, each an individual strip of leather, attached to the handle.

  Rapunzel didn’t reply.

  Damien didn’t think her disobedience was intentional, but he was amused by her desire to brazen it out. He swung the flogger, slapping his hand with the tails. The loud crack startled Rapunzel and she pulled against the ropes holding her perfectly in place.

  He grabbed the length of silk from the floor and used it to bind her hair up off her back. Flogging tended to break hair, and she had very nice hair.

  “Remember, it didn’t have to be this way, but you made me do this,” he said with as much seriousness as he could muster.

  “Oh, I really am making a big man like you do something,” she shot back over her shoulder. “Sir.”

  Damien laughed, though he shouldn’t encourage her. He cupped her ass and squeezed the firm globes. This was going to be fun.

  He kissed her where her shoulder met her neck. She shivered, so he kissed the same spot again. She squirmed and tried to squeeze him out, but he grabbed the tail of hair and pulled her head to the side.

  The muscles along her back tensed and she jerked against the ropes, but they held firm. His friend, Dom Yamamoto, had taught him to tie rope. There was no way she would be able to get away from him.

  The urge to touch her all over, acquaint himself with her curves, was strong. But that wasn’t what they’d come here for. She wanted a new experience and he wanted to dominate. He wanted to give her everything she didn’t know she wanted.

  Doms did what they did for various reasons. Some were simply born dominants. Others needed to be in control to quiet an urge. There were others who chose the role in service to their bottoms. Damien was a little bit of all of them. There were so many things in this world he couldn’t control, but for a negotiated span of time, he called all the shots. And still he gave his partners exactly what they needed.

  He backed away slowly, swinging the flogger in a circular motion by his side. The leather whooshed through the air, creating an ominous sound. She couldn’t see him, so he grinned.

  There were a few different ways to use a flogger, but one of the easiest was to swing it in a figure eight, with the target being the crossing point of the circles. It allowed for continuous swinging without twisting the tails. Damien transitioned into the figure-eight pattern, his gaze trained on the bit of flesh framed by the straps of her nightie.

  She jumped as the air whooshed past, hunching her shoulders.

  The first kiss of leather on flesh sounded with a slap.

  Rapunzel relaxed as he let the flogger fall across her shoulders and back with a steady, easy rhythm. In his experience, the feel of the leather was more akin to a massage than anything else.

  Her pale skin began to redden as blood rose to the surface.

  She relaxed more and more, until he
r face was lying across a rung and her limbs hung fully suspended by the rope.

  Damien grasped the tails in his left hand, breaking the rhythm. He cracked the flogger like a whip, flicking her left shoulder.

  Rapunzel jumped, her spine straightening, and yelped.

  Damien tossed the flogger on the table behind him and closed the distance, running his hands over her back, feeling her reaction.

  “How’d that feel?”

  “Mm, good.” She chuckled a little.

  Damien waited a moment before hauling back and slapping her ass.

  Rapunzel responded with a yelp and another giggle.

  “You aren’t learning your lesson at all,” he growled into her ear.

  “Sorry, sir, I forgot,” she said over her shoulder, but her tone implied no remorse whatsoever.

  “Hmm.” As much as he wanted to keep his hands on her, that path led to temptation, and it was still too early yet. He wanted more time to play.

  Damien paced back to his toy bag and considered his options. He selected three items. Two he tucked in his pockets, and the third he carried back to his switch, slapping it against his hand.

  “I’ve been nice. Now I’m really going to have to teach you a lesson,” he said, taunting her.

  “Is that a promise, sir?” she said over her shoulder, the flirty tones taunting him to do his worst.

  Damien smacked the curve of her ass with a long wooden paddle.

  She screamed, tossing her head back and spouting profanity at him.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Damien tucked the paddle in his back pocket, freeing up his hands to grasp her hair and pull her head back.

  She glared at him, but there was more heat than ire.

  “Would you like to say something to me?” he asked.

  “I think you missed a spot. Sir.”

  “Oh, did I?” He couldn’t help but laugh. She might as well be asking him for more.

  Damien gently bit the tendon on the side of her neck. It was that or kiss her, and she didn’t deserve kisses. She deserved the paddle.

  Poppy held her breath as the dom’s teeth closed on her neck. Her head reeled from the endorphins rushing through her system. Flogging was one of her favorites. It put her in the euphoric mind-set of subspace, where the world was colors and feelings. Words were a hindrance.