by Joey W. Hill
"Des." She put her hand on his arm to draw his full attention to her.
"Hmm?" He stroked a wisp of hair off her face, thumb caressing her bottom lip. His thick tail of hair was draped over his right shoulder and she combed her fingers through it, feeling the hard straightness of his collar bone beneath.
"If you wanted to do something, I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His look could x-ray stone, but whatever he saw satisfied him, because he lifted her off of him to help her to her feet. "All right. Stay right here. I'll be back in a second."
She liked that he didn't question her decision. He'd convinced her that he genuinely wanted her own feelings to lead her wherever she wanted to go. As such, he was respecting her understanding of her own desires. Even as she was sure he'd pay close attention to any indication she was getting cold feet.
He could exert an unyielding will that melted her every reservation into full surrender. He also possessed a sensitivity to her needs that surpassed her own understanding of them at times. Maybe that was what Logan meant about an experienced Dom. If so, God bless them. And wow. What a freaking miracle of nature. Her freaking Dom-wizard. She chuckled inside, wondering if she'd ever share the nickname with him.
As he disappeared in the crowd, the thought was replaced with some anxiety. The enchantment that made her want him to bind her in his rope was strongest with his proximity. Yet, the main reason she wanted him to do it wasn't sexual, though the idea of it was certainly tempting. She wanted him to do it because it was a critical part of what made Des himself. She wanted to be part of that identity. She wanted to be what was caught in Spiderman's web.
She wasn't bothered by anyone. Those watching were as absorbed by the rigging as she'd been. Then Des was back, his rigger's duffle bag in hand. "Still sure?" he asked.
His thorough look said it wouldn't be what came out of her mouth that made up his mind. She slipped her hand into his free one.
"Yes. I'm glad you're not one of those Doms who's a stickler about not being touched unless the sub asks permission."
"You wouldn't find that arousing?"
She shook her head. "It would make me feel alone."
He kissed her forehead. "I like the feel of your body, your hands, your lips. As I said from the beginning, love, when I need you to keep your hands to yourself, I'll just tie you up. On that note..."
Still holding her hand, he drew her toward a set of empty hooks. As soon as he took her there, she noticed a lot of the riggers shifted to a better position to watch him. It made her proud on his behalf, that they admired his skill and technique and learned from it. It helped reduce her nervous flutter as that audience shift became less subtle. Body language, exchanged comments and a lot of speculative eyes were all directed toward them.
"Hey." Des took both her hands in his as she looked up at him. "It's just us, Julie. You and me. Remember? We can stop if you want. We don't have to do this."
"I know." As she was held by his gaze, she calmed. Things got quiet inside, because she saw and found the stillness inside him. He cupped her nape, drawing her forward as he bent to put his forehead against hers. Her fingers curled in his shirt at his waist, over the rope and chain holding the sporran, but her knuckles brushed the firm heat of him beneath.
Realizing with surprise what he'd initiated was contact between their third eye energy points, an effective and meditative way to establish intimacy, she breathed with him, and that stillness expanded around them. When he at last shifted his grip and found the hook of the dress at her nape, they might have been back in the theater again, just the two of them on stage.
As he took the dress off, he helped her step out of it. The dress's bodice took the place of a bra, so beneath the garment she wore only a gold lace thong, the garters and the stockings. His pause told her he hadn't expected that, and he held the dress at her breasts an additional moment.
"Still okay?" he asked.
"Yes." She studied the unexpected pensiveness in his gaze. "How about you?"
"Yeah." His knuckles slid along the bare curve of her full breast, the dress still partially concealing it. "Just not sure these bastards deserve to see something as gorgeous as your breasts."
Her cheeks warmed. "The only one looking at them is you. At least in my mind."
His gaze lifted to hers, his eyes flashing with hot approval. Then he set the dress aside. He detached the garters and touched her face, showing her his callused palm, a reminder that his work-hardened hands would snag the stockings if he tried to remove them himself.
"I'd leave them on you, because you look so damn sexy, but rope wouldn't be kind to them. Hold on, love. Step out of the shoes first."
In her lustful haze, she'd started to roll the stockings down without removing the shoes. Flushing a little, she stepped out of the heels, holding onto his shoulders. Taking off the stockings was a two-handed affair, but he held her at waist and hip with strong hands as she removed and tucked the filmy sheer fabric carefully into the shoes. When she set them down next to his bag, he caressed her buttocks bared by the thong. The front of his kilt brushed the backs of her thighs, he stood so close to her. As she straightened, he had his first coil of rope in hand.
He held the fall over her throat, the coil resting against her chest. At his pause, she noticed him glancing down at her shoes. She'd placed them toes out as she always did.
"It's so they can look at different scenery, since they've been looking at each other all night."
His lips quirked. He guided her head back against his shoulder, and began to run the coil of rope over her flesh. Neck, sternum, the rise of her breasts. She turned her face toward his throat, feeling his pulse against her nose and lips. His other hand stroked her body, knuckles sliding along her rib cage, the nip of her waist, the flare of her hip, and playing with the thong. He didn't seem in a particular hurry, and she lost breath and sense of time when he uncoiled the rope and wrapped it around her.
He didn't tie it. He let it coil and uncoil around her with the force of gravity, turning it into a living thing gliding over her curves. Over her breasts, under her arms, dropping to her hips, slithering between her legs. There he caught and tugged it through, tightening it so she swayed in his grip, the tension putting pressure on labia and clit. Then it loosened and fell away. He wrapped it diagonally over her, back under the thong, securing it there as he took up the other end and wrapped it around her eyes, into her mouth like a gentle bit, and around her throat. He put his fingers beneath it to twist like he'd done with the collar.
She was a swaying flower, a rose whose petals he compressed into a tightly furled bud before he allowed her to bloom and breathe with the loosening of his bindings. He took her down into a folded over position, cinching the rope around the back of her neck and thighs, holding her that way on the floor as he stroked her legs, her buttocks, the framed shape of her damp sex. He had his fingers hooked in the wraps he'd done across her back, so she felt in no danger of toppling.
The bands loosened and he straightened her again, to position her beneath the hooks. She was already in a half trance state. He would tangle and hold her in his web a million different ways while she floated in the euphoria created by the dance between his hands and the jute rope he favored. He'd left the rope tied around her mouth, a way to relieve her of the need to talk, but she was glad he hadn't left the wrap over her eyes. She wanted to see him.
He boxed her arms behind her, forearms tied together beneath her shoulder blades. He took down her hair, combing his fingers through it. Once again, he took his time, stroking deep, tugging on her scalp, letting her feel his care along with his strength. When at last he bound her hair into a tail and attached the rope from that to her boxed arms, he left her enough slack she could look down and see what he was doing next. She was captivated by the concentrated look on his face, the energy that poured off of him as he made her his creation.
He'd secured the wraps over her arm
s to two of the hooks to hold her upright while he was otherwise occupied. He did a diamond harness on her body, but this time the stopper knots were elaborate, Escher-looking creations that also reminded her of the Celtic knots of his sleeve studs. He didn't stop at her hips. He left her sex unencumbered, a promising decision, splitting the doubled rope over her hips and then bringing in more rope to start a lattice-looking design that ran from the juncture of her thigh and hip to her feet, looping a double strand under the soles.
He tilted his head up. "If I tie the rope under your feet, you can't get away from me, can you? Can't outrun me."
Her heart thudded hard in her chest. He had an edge to his tone and a light in his eyes that said he meant it. The primitive side summoned for both of them. All the debris of the civilized world fallen away to make things simple and in sharp relief.
She loved the way he looked when he did this. His focus was brilliant, encompassing her and the whole creative miasma around her. She suspected he could see so many possibilities there, an aura he read to decide what he wanted to do.
Many performers used interesting ways to tap into creative energy, but regardless of the method, it always involved a focus somehow very present and yet also in an entirely different realm, the contrast the connecting link.
She loved being in proximity to that process, drinking it in. Now she was part of that live connection, in the center of the flow. It wasn't an ego thing. Being in the center wasn't about that. It was a safe feeling, a balanced one, since there could be nothing more solid than standing at the center of a circle. At the center of someone's soul, feeling as if everything around her was welcoming her, capturing her, cherishing her, taking everything from her. Bliss was the reward for her surrender.
He trailed his fingers up her torso, along the cage he'd created around her body. "I'll do this to you one weekend when we're off by ourselves together. Only I'll do a similar lattice work over your arms instead of boxing them. You'll be free to move your limbs, but this is all you'll wear. With this net tied over you, I can bind you in endless ways. Turn you into any kind of orchid I want. Hook you to my bed with your limbs spread out like a daisy, and fuck and eat your pussy, suckle your nipples. Coat you in wax or chocolate."
He cocked his head, considering, as a soft moan of reaction slipped from her lips. "I can put you down all tucked up, your forehead to the ground, arms threaded under you, between your folded-up legs. I'd bind your wrists between your ankles, so you're like a seed in the ground, not ready to split open until I cut the ties. I'd slide my cock into your tight opening, fuck you so slow, killing us both with that sweet friction, even as you'd be making those little pleading noises because you couldn't move, your climax completely at my whim."
He lifted his gaze to her face. "Ah, love, your eyes get so hungry for all of it when I talk to you like this. Stretched lips over my rope making me think of what you'll do for my cock later. That you were willing to do here in front of everyone, sweet, wanton woman."
He rose. "I'm going to put you in flight. Let your body move with what I'm doing. Don't tense and don't worry that I won't support you. Can you do that?"
She nodded.
"All right. This will help." He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off with an unselfconscious shrug of his shoulders that sent the green spotlight shimmering over his tanned shoulders and the dragon and rope tattoos. She anticipated a Des-scented blindfold, but first he ran the soft cloth over her arms and legs, her torso, an intriguing caress and marking at once. Then he tied it over her eyes and cheekbones, across the bridge of her nose over her flaring nostrils.
"Remember what I said," he reminded her, body close to hers. "Relax. You're water, just flowing with me."
That sense of isolation with just the two of them increased, any other noise becoming the crash of ocean waves. Truth, she hadn't thought of any of the watching eyes in some time.
He removed all the rope and started anew. Around her neck, shoulders, breast and legs. She let out a breath, remembering just in time not to tense as she was suddenly airborne, hooks attached to wraps at key support points, well distributed so nothing cut into her or put uncomfortable pressures or strain on her body. Des had supported her through the lift. She'd felt his tough arm muscles and hard body against her until she evened out.
However, she knew her Dom. He relished certain types of discomfort, those that goaded desire, so she wasn't surprised he had some of that in mind for her.
She was bent mostly in half, like a diver in a modified pike position. Her thighs were tied to her abdomen, her toes pointed down. Her elbows were bound to her knees, her wrists to her ankles. She was supported by the ropes under her hips and thighs and the wraps above and below her breasts, all of the lines meeting above her back to hold her suspended and keep her back straight, parallel to the floor. He'd tied her hair in the way he favored to keep her chin up and her face lifted.
In this position he could stab into her with his jutting cock, if he moved the soaked crotch of the thong. Instead, he kept his hands running over her, reassuring, caressing, testing her muscles, tension. She wondered what she looked like and hoped he'd taken a picture. She wanted to see if he'd done something with her body she wasn't even sure she could pull off in her yoga class. But in yoga she wasn't in a daze of arousal and trance created by his touch, her muscles loose and flexible to his demands.
He kissed her mouth, caressing her cheek, her throat. He walked around her, sliding a hand along her flank. She strangled on a breath as he put his mouth between her legs. He licked her cunt on the outside of the panties, sending a jolt of reaction through her that had her trying to squirm in her bonds. The sensation was indescribable, excruciating.
"Would you come like this, my sweet sub?" he crooned at her. "Give your Master everything he wants?"
"Yes," she rasped. God yes.
"Good." He paused, though, something odd in his voice. He was standing again, because his fingers passed over her mouth, thumb sliding along her carotid, the thumping blood pulsing there.
He put his forehead against hers like he had at the beginning. Then, that had been to center her. She had a feeling this was to center himself, find level ground in an unstable firmament.
"Des?" she whispered. His pure, hard need pierced through everything else, took her back to that quiet place inhabited by the two of them, where she was as aware of the type of energy pulsing around him as he was of hers.
"I've never wanted to keep someone. I've never let myself...want that." His voice was thick. The clamp of his fingers on her shoulder seemed capable of piercing muscle and bone. It hurt, but she didn't think he was even aware of it. She refused to flinch, to do anything to interrupt wherever he was in his head.
"You can want that," she said softly. Her fears about being in a relationship, about having her heart crushed, none of that meant anything right now. This, someone offering her his heart, a heart she wanted, was something she would never be able to refuse, no matter what lies she told herself. She couldn't refuse the one thing she wanted more than anything.
He removed the shirt blindfold so he could look at her. When she met his gaze, she drew in a breath like a shard of glass piercing her to the core. Pain was a living thing in his eyes.
Sometimes the universe drew back a curtain and let two souls see one another directly. Such instances were so rare, and Julie had never experienced one until this. In that brief, blinding, heartbreaking and love making moment, she saw into Des. She thought he'd given her that the other night, and he had, but then it had been a glimpse. This was an in-depth look no one else had ever been given. She knew that because she had the answer his soul needed, waiting in a cold darkness she hadn't expected to see.
It startled her, but it also matched her needs and wants in a way beyond words. The bottomless glass was suddenly brimming over, able to satisfy the thirst of the whole world and one particular man.
"Des." She would have reached out and cupped his face in both hands if she could
. She was helpless and immobile, and somehow that had freed something inside him, something she could answer with her heart.
She smiled at him, through tears and an aching throat. "You can keep me. I promise. It's okay. I want that more than anything. I'm not afraid anymore."
Like two children on a playground, it was that simple and straightforward. The cold darkness drew back, though the soul view remained. It was all-encompassing, overwhelming and everything she'd ever wanted to have and hold.
He was struggling with that stunning moment of vulnerability, she could tell. He hadn't meant to open himself like that, let her see so much.
"Master." She spoke in a voice thick with emotions, drawing his eyes to her face. "I want to keep you, too."
He untied her. Held her and she held him, a mutual aftercare, but it worked for both of them, which was all that mattered. He helped her back in her dress, and the pleasantly domestic task touched her. She was cold, but he'd anticipated that. He had a quilted flannel shirt in his duffle. It smelled like him.
When he considered it next to her fancy dress, he shook his head, as if discarding the idea of using it instead of a blanket over the satin creation, but she took it. It was oversized for him, so she was able to wrap it around herself. She did a little left and right plie, like she was displaying herself on a runway.
"Bag lady chic, complete with bare feet." She gestured with her shoes, clasped together in her right hand. Putting an arm over her shoulders, Des kissed her forehead with affection, and they went to find Logan and Madison. They were on a patio behind the building, illuminated by strung lights over a large pergola. The area was clustered with dogwoods and greenery.
Madison looked blissfully mellow, a comfortable post sub-state. Logan looked satisfied and focused on her in that way that made a man appealing to any woman. Add Logan's looks and demeanor and well...
Julie could appreciate those qualities, but her attention was absorbed by her own escort, and the reactions he'd summoned from her. Plenty of the women here saw what she did in him, because Julie caught lots of lingering looks. Let them look. He was here with her.
