His Little Tart

by Sindra van Yssel

  “Brussels sprouts,” she said without hesitation, making a face.

  She’d obviously never had his grandmother’s sprouts with butter. The vision of having her along with him when he visited his grandmother made him smile. Maybe someday. But he wanted to concentrate on the moment.

  “Something funny?”

  “Not important,” he said. “I actually like them. But that’s okay. The point is to have something you can remember. If you really want to object to something, just tell me about brussels sprouts, and it will stop. Think that will stick?”

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  “Yes, Sir. What do I say if I want to agree to something?”

  He grinned. “You just said it.”

  She looked at the clippers, razor, brush, and shaving bowl as he took them out of his carry-on bag, and rubbed her top teeth against her lower lip. She raised her gaze to look him in the eyes. “Yes, Sir.”

  “After you.” He gestured back toward the door to the dungeon.

  “You just like to look at my ass,” she said but walked forward in no particular hurry.

  “Darn straight,” he said. “Looks like it’s losing its healthy pink. Think you need a refresher?”

  “No, Sir,” she said and picked up the pace.

  He had a particular piece of furniture in mind, and he’d been happy to see that no one was using it. It was a small padded table, big enough to support a sub’s back or perhaps a kneeling sub. Around it were various eyebolts, but underneath the table were a series of inflexible metal poles, bolt snaps, and cuffs. It was like an erector set for grownups, and there was a variety of different ways one could configure the table depending on how you stuck the poles together and positioned them through the eyes of the bolts.

  He took her hand once they were inside, and he led her to the table. “Here?” she asked.

  “Yes, here.”

  “I thought, maybe, if you were going to do that to me, that you’d do it in the bathroom.”

  “Shave you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He grinned. “Do you have a problem saying it?”

  “Saying what?” She grinned back.

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  He ignored her attempt to turn the tables. “We’re doing it here. Unless you need to say your safe word.”

  She looked around and said, “No, Sir. You may shave me here.” She looked down at the ground but not before he saw her face turning pink again.

  He tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “Is there something you need to tell me, my little tart?”

  “Just that the idea of it makes me wet, and I don’t know why. But I don’t want to resist. I don’t want to use my safe word. I want you to do exactly whatever you want to.”

  He’d heard words like that before from subs, and he didn’t like them. Safe words were important, vital even. He squeezed her chin, hard enough to be uncomfortable.

  “You will use your safe word if we’re doing something that will harm you, physically or emotionally. Are we perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She didn’t sound convincing. He supposed it was hard to sound convincing the way he was holding her. He relaxed his grip.

  “If I have any doubts, Constance, then we can’t play. I need to know I have your consent. I could ask you each time, ‘May I please shave your lovely little pussy, oh tasty tart?’ But if you don’t want that, I need to know that everything I do, you’ve consented to. And the only way I can know that without asking for everything is to know that you’ll speak up if you ever don’t consent. Am I perfectly clear?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Yes, Sir.”

  He held her gaze for a long several seconds before deciding that he trusted her answer. “Good girl,” he said at last. “I need you to go and fetch me some warm water in a bowl. It should be hot, but not too hot to touch your skin. Can you do that while I set things up here, or do you need me to accompany you? No one lives here except the Allisons, and we know where all their guests are, so you won’t encounter anyone.” He smiled, sensing her nervousness. “If a guy heads out of here in your direction, I’ll stop what I’m doing and tail him.”

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  She noticeably relaxed at that. “I’m being kind of ridiculous, aren’t I? But thank you.” Her eyelashes fluttered, but it looked natural, not like an intentional come-on. He doubted she was even aware she was doing it. “I like the feeling of you protecting me, Master Aidan.”

  “Good. Get used to it.”

  He watched her until she was out of the room, and then got to work with the poles. She was going to be very exposed, but he’d have by far the best view, standing right in front of her, and he intended to keep it that way. He put two of the wider poles through the eyebolts eight inches on each side from the end of the table. He slid a thinner pole through two of the holes in the second set to make sure it would fit. It slid in perfectly and snugly, and it took him a moment to pull it back out. That was for later.

  There was a telescoping pole with cuffs on the ends that locked into place with a tiny pin once it was fixed. He adjusted it until it was the width he desired and then fastened two more cuffs to the eyebolts in the center of the long edge of the table.

  Then he fetched a folding table from the edge of the room and set it up nearby. He placed the elements of his shaving kit on it: bowl, brush, and safety razor. He put a new Japanese blade in the safety razor. One of the nice things about traveling the world was that he had sampled the best it had to offer. But one could get pretty much everything off the Internet these days anyway. Worked better if one had a permanent address too.

  He got two towels and a packet of lube from the table. He didn’t know if he’d need the lube or not, but he could always put the packet back later. He had condoms in his pants pocket already.

  Constance came back in the room as he was finishing setting up.

  “Here you are, Sir.” She put a large green plastic bowl full of steaming water down on the table he’d set up. She had a dishtowel underneath it to protect her hands from the heat, which made him wonder if it was hotter than it ought to be, but better that than too cold. Warm water made for a better shave.

  “Why are we doing this in—with people watching, Sir?”

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  “I don’t care about the people watching. But you like to feel you’re being forced, don’t you, Constance? I’ve watched the look in your eyes when I pick you up or move you or press you against a tree. And when I tied you up too. The way you got excited when I put my hands on your head while you were sucking me off so delightfully, even though I didn’t exert any pressure. Restrained might be a better word. And I can’t hold you down while I shave you; I’m not going to risk nicking you. This little table, however, is going to do that job for me. There isn’t one in the bathroom, and I’m willing to bet there isn’t one at your house. Pretty sure I’ve never seen anything like it in any hotel. So”—he patted the table—“up you go.” Then he smiled. “Would you like me to put you where I want you?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, please,” she said with feeling.

  He lifted her onto the table so she was sitting on the edge.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, little tart?”

  “May I struggle?”

  He looked at her, but there was no mischief in her eyes, just a sincere yearning that melted his heart. It was going to be a wild ride with her, he suspected. She’d mouth off, and she wanted to fight him physically too. Yes, a safe word was definitely a necessity in a relationship like that, but he was looking forward to every second. “Yes,”

  he said. “You may struggle.” He paused for effect. “For all the good that it will do you.”

  She blinked. He moved to the side of the table, grabbed her wrists, and then threw his leg over her lap so he was straddling her. She strained her arms to try to get free and
head butted him in the chest, but it didn’t matter. He used his weight to bear her down, slowly but steadily—he didn’t want her slamming her head onto the table.

  She managed to wriggle one wrist out of his grasp for a moment and used it to grab the back of his shirt and pull. He wondered if she would have scratched him if he’d had it off. When pulling didn’t do anything, she tried punching his shoulder, but her leverage was horrible. Didn’t matter as he actually needed a hand free anyway.

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  Transferring her left hand from his right to his left, he reached down with his right to get one of the cuffs.

  Once he had one wrist secured to the side of the table, the rest was easy. Her chest heaved under him as she tried to push him off. Excitement filled her eyes as he corralled her other arm, forced it into position, and secured it.

  She suddenly pulled her legs up, and he felt both knees in the back, jolting him forward. His weight had been forward, and he relaxed once he had her wrists in place.

  He ended up with his groin against her chin. Somehow, he didn’t think having his cock in her mouth was a good idea right now, even though the thought flashed through his mind and did nothing to ease the raging hard-on he had.

  He kept going forward, hopping off her and the table. She tried to twist her body away, and he grabbed her and pushed her back on the table, not so much because she’d be able to go anywhere but because he was worried she’d hurt herself. He moved around to the other end. She managed to get her leg in position to give him a good kick that got the side of his face.

  “Feeling feisty today, aren’t you?” he asked, once he had her legs wrapped in his arms. She tried to kick free, but he was strong enough to hold her now that he was fully on his guard.

  “You can use your safe word if you like,” she said. She gave him a murderous look, but underneath it there was a slight smile, and she’d reminded him neatly that she had a safe word and wasn’t saying it. He had her consent. Now he needed to figure out how to get an arm free without getting kicked again.

  If he couldn’t bring the restraints to her legs, he could bring her to the restraints.

  He pulled her legs down, over the end of the table. He could keep his arms around them and still grab a cuff that was intended for a thigh. It was a big one, and he managed to wrap it tightly around both ankles, locking them together. That wasn’t how he wanted her ankles, but it let him handle her legs with one hand, and that was what he needed for now.

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  He grabbed the thin pole he’d tested earlier and waited for her next inevitable attempt to kick. He used the momentum of it to lift her legs back above the table and push her knees toward her face. He slid the thin pole in place under her calf. She couldn’t bring her legs forward now because the pole would catch the inside of her knee. And she couldn’t bring them far enough back to slip her feet under the pole, because her own body was in the way.

  So naturally, she tried to break it. She made the poles rattle, but they held. A strong man might have succeeded, even with lousy leverage, but the pole was too strong for Constance. The look on her face when she realized she was trapped was priceless. First her eyes went wide with surprise; then she gritted her teeth with frustration and effort, and then a look of peace came over her.

  Now he had a moment with his hands free. He took the bar with the cuffs at each end of it and waited for her feet to stop kicking. When they did, he attached one of the cuffs to one ankle and undid the thigh cuff that had been wrapped around both. She started struggling again at that, apparently thinking she could throw her foot over to the side enough to get around the bar, but he grabbed her foot before she could succeed.

  Shifting his grip to above her ankle, he attached the other cuff. The bar between them insured that she wouldn’t be closing her legs anytime soon. When he clipped it to the two bars sticking through the eyebolts at the end of the table, she was locked securely in place, right where he wanted her. She could move her legs up and down a little, but that was all, and the bar under her knees stopped her from doing very much of that.

  “Bastard,” she said.

  “Yep,” he replied cheerily. It was the literal truth, not that she knew that. He dipped his finger in the water. Nice and hot but no longer excessive. Good timing. He took one of the towels and slid it under her bum. Her pussy gaped invitingly, and the rose of her ass beckoned as well. His cock responded to the sight. Tonight was not the night to take her probably virgin ass; that would happen in private some other time, where he could help her through any awkwardness she might feel. And he had other

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  things to do right now than fuck her, and he’d need a steady hand for what he intended. He’d get his satisfaction later. He picked up the clippers and flicked them on as he brought it between her legs. The shaving would go much better if she was nicely trimmed first.

  Her voice got softer. “People are watching.”

  He chuckled. “They’ll go back to playing soon enough. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “They’re busy eating your tarts. They might be better than sex.”

  Her cheeks were already pink, but she blushed even deeper. “That’s because they’re not having sex with you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual, love.” Her pressed the clippers to her mound and began to skim off the top layer of her patch.

  She shivered. “Tickles. Sir.”

  He brushed her clit with his thumb. “This?” he asked, knowing full well that wasn’t what she was talking about.

  All he got in reply was a moan, but he thought that was a more than satisfying reply. Her pussy was glistening with moisture, making him want to thrust something inside. His cock. His fingers. He wanted to feel that wetness against his skin, and that meant his fingers, since they could enter without a barrier of latex. But he resisted. He had a different task to perform right now, and getting his fingers coated with her juices wouldn’t help.

  He used the brush to whisk the clippings off onto the towel, moving his thumb in circles as he did so. Constance arched her hips, but the table allowed her only a little movement. He took his thumb away, and she groaned in exasperation. He flicked the brush against her clit, once, twice, and the sounds Constance made changed in pitch.

  “Get it out of your system, love, because you’ll want to be very still soon.”

  “Oh no.”

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  “Oh yes.”

  She just nodded. Usually she had plenty of words, but he took pleasure that he’d managed to put her in a state where she didn’t feel very verbal. He was even willing to overlook a few missing Sirs, under those circumstances.

  He dipped the brush in the steaming water and worked it around on the shaving soap. He could probably get her to be quite still if he made her come first, and he was sure he could accomplish that in under a minute if he wanted to. But this wasn’t the main event. That would come later when he fucked her sweet pussy.

  He couldn’t resist taking a moment, however, to taste her. He licked along her slit, tasting her womanly essence, flicking his tongue across her clit and being rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He watched as her chest heaved in response, her belly rippling as her breath went ragged. She was getting close, and as much fun as it would be to take her right to the edge, if a touch during shaving pushed her over, she might get cut. He’d have to watch her very carefully.

  He put his hand on her knee to make sure she could feel his presence and left her alone for a few seconds while her breathing settled back to normal. Then he picked up the brush, full of foamy lather, and swirled it against her mound. The hair on either side of her pussy lips was trickier, and he’d save that for last.

  He put the brush back in the bowl, and picked up the razor.

  CONSTANCE COULD SEE the razor out of the corner of her eye. When
he picked it up, she went still. She still nicked her legs occasionally, and the thought of someone else shaving her was unnerving. But placing herself in Aidan’s strong hands gave her a peace she hadn’t known could exist. It was worth the risk. And she trusted him.

  Perhaps that was silly, but it was as instinctive as her fear.

  Besides, in this contraption, I don’t have much choice.

  I have my safe word.

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  I want this. Her clit was throbbing, and she had a craving deep in her belly that would only be satisfied by touch. His touch. But it went deeper than sex too. Her heart wanted to surrender. And for the moment, bound by steel and leather cuffs, she could.

  It was as if the bindings had freed her to let herself go more deeply into submission.

  The razor was cool against her skin after the warmth of the soap. She couldn’t even feel the blade, really, just an occasional tug, but the top of the safety razor had a curved cool steel spot that occasionally touched her. As he shaved her in short, swift strokes, he left behind smooth skin to be caressed by the air. It felt deliciously naughty and naked.

  One thought of the view he had made her shiver. He touched her thigh and stopped for a moment, and she tried to be still. She never wanted a guy to look “down there,” and now he was making it all bare. And judging from the smile she caught little glimpses of between her knees, he was enjoying himself. She couldn’t cover up, anyway, but for the first time, she felt she was beautiful everywhere. I’m a woman. Look at my naked pussy.

  He brushed her clit with his shaving brush, and she moaned. He brushed warm lather on either side of her pussy. The bristles tickled her soft, wet folds.

  His fingers followed the brush, scooping up unneeded lather, she supposed. He wiped them on the towel and started to reach for the razor, then changed his mind. He entered her suddenly, thrusting fingers—two, three?—into her pussy. Her legs shivered, and her pussy pulsed, and when he curved his fingers and found her G-spot, it was as if he’d found a way to send bolts of lightning straight to her core. It was almost more than she could take, and she knew that one touch of his fingers on her clit would send her over.