by Sadie Marks
The last item was a gag. He held it up, so she could get a good look and then set it down on the table. It wasn't a standard ball gag; she'd tried them a couple times but hated the way they made her drool. This was more of a half-mask that would be strapped over her mouth and chin. She had no doubt it would still be effective, and she didn't like the idea of wearing it one bit.
She couldn't claim it was a limit when it wasn't, but she didn't like having her words silenced like that. It wasn't the physical part; it was the baggage from her past. There had been times when her voice had been taken away from her, even though there had been no gag in her mouth. She took a deep breath and looked away from it.
"Do you like to be gagged?" he asked.
He'd been watching her reactions carefully, so he had to have known the answer to that already, but it didn't feel like a rhetorical question. She shook her head firmly.
"Then keep your mouth under control and I won't use it. I like to hear the sounds you make but remember, tonight, right now, you're prey." He gave her a look she could only read as determined while he wrapped the restraints around her ankles and tightened them. It felt like he'd been waiting until just that moment to fasten her in place, just to remind her that he was in charge—temporarily.
Unlike the threat of the gag, she actually wanted to be tied down. When he slid her wrists into the cuffs and clipped them to hooks on the side of the table, she enjoyed that fluttery feeling of fear that rose in her chest. Her heart thumped as it sped up and her mouth went suddenly dry. Being restrained, helpless, always did that to her even though she knew she was perfectly safe.
He started off with a light flogger. It was probably made of lab-grown suede by the look of it and he began covering the front of her body with light strokes of the soft leather. They tickled more than anything. They did get harder, but a toy like that was only designed for pleasure. At the hardest, it barely stung.
He used it to tease, slapping it down across her breasts, belly, and thighs with tender strokes that barely pinkened the skin. Aware that this might be a test, she forced herself to relax and enjoy the flogging, instead of pushing for more. Her eyes slid shut and the tension eased out of her body with the steady whick-whick-whick of the leather as he moved around the table to cover her skin evenly.
Relaxed, calm but with a growing itch that needed to be scratched, she kept her mouth closed and tried not to get herself in trouble. Eventually, he moved down to stand at the foot of the table, and after a brief pause, during which she opened her eyes to see what he was doing, he began to cover the inside of her thighs with the same pink lines she wore everywhere else.
Even the soft leather stung on such a tender place and she let him know how much she appreciated it by lifting her hips and wiggling as much as the bonds would allow after each stroke. A steady trickle of soft moans and groans poured out of her mouth as he worked his way up and down her thighs, until they radiated warmth.
The stirrups kept her legs spread, and as he got closer to the delta between her thighs, her muscles strained as they tried to close. All of it was an automatic reaction to protect her delicate parts, but she wanted to feel the leather there. She wanted harder strokes that would hurt and the orgasm that would follow it because the long, slow flogging had her body primed and coiled tight.
As soon as he began to snap the leather down against her mound, she knew it wouldn't be long until it brought an orgasm crashing through her. With her legs raised and spread, it had to be obvious how aroused she was. She could feel the slippery wetness soaking into the scrap of fabric, and he paused.
"You're enjoying this far too much." It sounded like a complaint, but a quick look at his expression showed he wasn't annoyed. He looked feral, hungry, as if he wanted to rip off her panties and take her on the spot. For a second, she actually wished the rules would allow that, but as long as there was consent and they cleaned up after, he could do almost anything else.
He chose to take advantage of that. His hand cupped her sex, squeezing possessively. "I can see how wet you are, Sam. I bet you're close to begging and I know you hate to beg," he commented as he ground the heel of his palm against her swollen labia, giving her some badly needed friction. She moaned loudly and then bit down on her bottom lip to cut it off.
"No. Don't do that; I want to hear you." She turned her head to the side, determined to ignore his order, and he punished her for it. His hand moved up, applying the pressure to the thin material, just where her clit was, with a circular movement. She arched her back, trying to push up into his hand, wanting him to slide his fingers under her thong so he could thrust them into her.
And then he stopped. "I don't think so," a brief pause and then, "prey." It was a reminder.
She'd forgotten and groaned as she realized he hadn't. "Okay, you want sounds. I'll make sounds," she assured him.
"Yes, you will. But if you want to come, you'll have to do more than that. You'll actually have to ask me." Did he sound smug? She thought so, but when her head snapped around to stare at him, he had a neutral look that she couldn't decipher.
"I'm not going to beg!" Her hands tightened into fists and she pulled at the restraints hard.
"Are you using your safeword to end this?"
"No!"
"Then we'll continue and see if that's true or not," he said calmly. He stepped back and brought the flogger down between her legs with a fast overhand arc. The leather slapped down hard enough to sting, but it was the thudding sensation from the speed that had her inhaling sharply as it sent ripples straight to her core.
He knew what it was doing to her, how it was bringing her close. She could climax from what he was doing alone, and he knew it, so he made a point of stopping every time she was just about to peak. And then he'd move around to give her some light, lazy strokes across her breasts or thighs—not where she desperately wanted him to aim.
She cried out in need. And she did beg eventually, but not until he upped the stakes significantly. Through it all, he'd made it clear that he was enjoying himself. His breath came faster and she was willing to bet only part of it was from exertion, but when she felt like she'd been simmering in her own juices for hours (that was literal, she could feel the arousal pooling underneath her ass, making her skin stick to the padded table surface and pull with a tacky sensation as she moved) he finally gave her what she'd been wanting.
Two fingers slipped underneath the fabric, sliding easily through the wetness he found there, and shoved into her hard and deep. Her back arched and her ass came off the table completely as he stroked across that spot, and then he slid them right back out of her and continued with the teasing as if nothing had happened, ignoring her desperate, pleading looks and the way she raised her hips to try to draw his attention there as he moved around the table to tease.
The fifth or sixth time he did it, she couldn't take anymore. "Please, please, don't stop!" she cried out.
"That didn't sound like a question. It sounded like an order, and prey doesn't give orders," he said coolly as his fingers slid out of her again.
"No please, please—I—will you please—" She stopped, stumbling over the words as she tried to give him what he wanted. "Please let me come?"
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He smiled, and it was a wicked smile that showed off the neat little points on his incisors.
She wanted to curse at him. She wanted to snap angrily but, instead, found herself thanking him profusely as his fingers worked their way back inside of her. This time, they stayed there, pumping in and out as his thumb applied pressure to her clit, and in seconds, an explosion rocketed through her. The whole club had to have heard her cry of pleasure, because when she opened her eyes, she noticed people had come over to watch.
She flushed, embarrassed, not because they'd seen her climax; that wasn't so unusual, but because she knew they'd probably heard her begging him and then thanking him for finally letting her topple over that edge. No one had ever done that to her before. She had n
ever let anyone do that to her before.
Why did she always feel like she was breaking all her rules for him? Probably because the mind-shattering orgasms were worth it. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.
Chapter 3
She hadn't planned it, hadn't ever expected it, but somehow had managed to fall in love with a man she'd only known for a couple of months. Those warm feelings of affection kept pushing through her whenever she saw him. They went on actual dates that weren't about sex or BDSM and she enjoyed herself. At some point, she had to stop pretending it was only about the physical pleasure he gave her. At some point, she had to admit it was a lot more than that.
She kept trying to deny it, kept building those walls, but in the end, he always tore them down again. Scenes became less about the pain and more about stripping her down to her core and showing him everything she thought and felt. It scared her.
He was so different from the other men she'd let in. Certainly, he wasn't cold and emotionally abusive like her father when he'd pitted her against her sister and made them compete for his affection. He wasn't like Craig, the last guy she'd trusted. He never even had her heart. He was just a friend she stayed with for a while and let her pay him back for the inconvenience by helping him build illicit mindscapes that he could sell on the black market for a big profit.
He had the skills to create them and was good at it, but he cut corners to save time and money, making them a risky proposition for his customers. And his work, like most of that kind of tech, was untested and raw—but people bought them anyway because it wasn't sanitized by the government. There were legally proscribed limits and his material went too deep, sometimes altering a person's perceptions permanently so that they could no longer tell fantasy from reality.
She'd become his test subject and she'd been lucky to escape permanent damage, but it had taken her months to wean off her addiction for those ultra-realistic mindscapes. For a while, she'd struggled with knowing what was real, and it had taken months to pull her life together. That was when she'd decided that she was better off alone—no family, no close friends, no boyfriends, just herself.
And she had a good life now. She made a decent living which qualified her for a good residential block. She filled her off-hours on the 'Sphere, and when she got that 'itch', she had a place to go to get her needs filled. There were playmates who knew not to expect anything permanent with her, and that worked. It didn't seem like there was something missing just because she was single, not when all her needs were met. People asked if she was lonely, and the honest answer was no. At least she never had been.
Until Trev. Until—whatever he'd done to her. She missed him when they weren't together, and when they were, she seemed to lose track of time and the hours flew by. She couldn't pinpoint what it was that held her enthralled in his web. He had an unpredictable sense of humor. She never knew what would make him laugh and what would cause his eyes to narrow in warning as his Dominant side rose to the surface.
She'd grown to enjoy those stern flashes and reveled in the way he was able to back her down each time. She didn't think she'd ever be truly submissive. She just had too much baggage that kept her from enjoying the act of submission the way some she knew did. But she did love the struggle and the way he always came out on top.
Was there a word for someone who submitted only when trapped but then enjoyed it? If there was, she didn't know it, but she'd noticed she had a tendency to try to rile him up on purpose. She played with the lines, sometimes letting him extend them outside the club, sometimes pulling back to try to maintain her boundaries.
He seemed to know when to push and when to back off, and that made all the difference apparently, because slowly, he was gaining ground when it came to her emotions. And as like turned into something deeper, she began to dread the day she knew was coming. The day he said he had to go was going to hurt. She knew, she'd known from their first meeting, that he was only here temporarily.
He was traveling for work, though she'd never really found out what he did for a living and why he had to travel when everyone else managed to do business in the 'Sphere from a distance. She'd taken to presenting him with the most hilariously unlikely job scenarios she could think of, but he just laughed and changed the subject. Several times, he'd left for a few days; once it had been slightly over a week, and by the time he was back, her cuticles were a mess from nervously picking at them.
She'd been tempted to go to the club and try to ease some of the stress of his absence, but by that time, they'd decided to be exclusive. In literal terms, they had been since the day she met him, but it did eventually come up in conversation and he gave her a shark-like grin when she'd suggested it with much hesitation.
Her fingers twisted in her lap as she looked at him. "Are we…is this a relationship?" she asked.
"Do you want it to be?"
"I just…I don't know. I've never had much luck with those." Her hands lifted to twist a strand of hair and then dropped back to her lap. She hated those nervous gestures for the way they gave away her emotions, but she couldn't seem to stop them.
"Think we've established things are different this time. Haven't we?" He tilted his head, looking at her, and then held out his arms so she could shift into them and relax against his chest with a sigh.
The action itself was an answer. "Yes, but what if it ruins things? And we'd have to agree on all the details, which is a lot of work."
"What kind of details do you think there are to discuss?" he asked. With any other man, she would have thought he was joking or being facetious, but she'd learned that when he asked a question like that, he was just honestly curious to know.
"Well, you know, what type of relationship it will be. What the rules are, and if it will just be two people, or…" she trailed off with a shrug.
"Well, I don't know about you, but one person is all I can handle. So far, we've been enjoying each other, I think?" He waited for her slow nod before continuing. "It's been light and flexible, and neither of us have promised anything—which was probably for the best since you know I won't be here forever."
That hit her like a punch to her stomach, and suddenly she was squirming to get out of his arms, while he ignored her attempts and held her there. "Samantha, listen to me before you run off."
She bit his arm. It wasn't that hard; it didn't break the skin. She just wanted to do something mean to him for reminding her that eventually he was going to leave, and she needed him to respond to it the way she knew he would.
He flipped her over his lap and spanked her hard and fast. It wasn't sexy, and it wasn't really punishment either. It was just what she needed right then to center her, and when it was over, he turned her right side up, settled her in the crook of his arm and gave her a firm look. "Are you going to listen now?"
She blew out a hard breath of frustration. The tangles of golden hair flew up and off her face for a second before they settled back messily, obscuring her vision somewhat. She left it as it was and didn't look at him. "I don't want you to go."
"I know you don't. I don't want to go either, but eventually, I'll have to." His forehead had little worry wrinkles above the bridge of his nose, and she wondered if there was something, or someone, pulling him away.
"Is it…do you have…someone else? Back in the rurals?" she asked hesitantly. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that. They'd never really discussed things in terms of a relationship until now, so for all she knew, he might have a contracted spouse already.
But he shook his head firmly and laughed. "No, definitely not." His hand went up to brush the tangled blonde strands off of her forehead, tucking them behind her ear so he could see her face fully. "In my line of work, I don't meet many available women. And there's—" He stopped there and shook his head again. His arms tightened around her in an almost possessive way, and she narrowed her eyes trying to figure out what was wrong.
"There's what?" she said as she poked his chest with one fi
nger. "You can't stop there."
"I'm a little bit of a throwback, Sam."
"What does that mean?" The confusion in her voice wasn't feigned. She was a little lost in the conversation.
"I don't like to share. When I claim something as mine, it's mine, and I don't share with other people. So, you ask me if we're in a relationship? Well, that's up to you, but if we are, then it's just you and me. No one else." The statement sounded defensive. Like someone had criticized him for this, but her body was reacting positively to the suggestion of being his alone.
Her nipples tightened and her heart sped up at the very mention of being claimed by him. She didn't know how much she wanted it until he said the words, and now, suddenly, she had the urge to say yes immediately. She stopped herself; pressing her lips together so firmly that they paled at the seam.
This wasn't a decision her hormones could make for her. She needed to consider it carefully before she agreed.
It wasn't unusual or strange. Monogamy was a perfectly valid choice and plenty of people wrote it into their official contracts, even though open relationships were more common, so she wasn't sure why he was acting so defensively. Like it was a shameful thing. Taboo.
But it was something she had to consider because she hadn't planned on having any relationships, so of course, she had no idea what she'd prefer. Just her and him? Well that sounded pretty good actually. If he was actually around, and that was the question, wasn't it? With his traveling job, was he going to be there for her?
She couldn't really picture herself sitting at home alone for months at a time waiting for him. A dozen questions circled her mind like water going down a drain, and the first one that made it to her mouth was probably the least important. "What do you do? For a job, I mean?"
