by Lila Dubois
They stepped to the side to wait, and James put his arm around her. “Now I’m looking forward to this.”
“It’s so good. I’ve only been here a few times.”
He kissed her temple, a casual, caring gesture that made her heart lurch. She wished he wouldn’t do that, but, at the same time, she wasn’t going to tell him to stop.
“You live across the bay,” he said. “How often are you in San Francisco?”
“Almost every day for work. This place is only open at night, not for lunch, which is why I haven’t been more. I’m usually done for the day and back on the other side of the bridge before it opens.”
“Do you have a car?”
“Nope, I use my bike or public transit to get to work, and then I use a company—” She stopped and sucked in air as the plug started to vibrate. It was a low, gentle vibration.
She slanted a look at James, who was grinning like a kid in a candy story. “You were saying you use the company something?”
She took a breath and leaned into him, both to steady herself and because she wanted to rub against his hard body. “Truck,” she finished. “I use a company truck. Sometimes, depending on what I’m doing, I take a truck home with me, so I can go straight to a site in the morning.”
The vibration turned off.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “Does it have an aftermarket rose-gold paint job?”
He snorted out a laugh. “No. It’s a gray Mercedes, and it’s a lease.”
“Well, your highness, I must admit I’m disappointed.”
“Oh? You expected better.”
“I did.”
He snorted. “If it drives, flies, or floats, it’s better to lease.”
“Better?”
“More cost effective.”
“Okay, I seriously doubt you know anything about being cost effective. You offered the town car people a thousand-dollar bonus to get you a limo.”
“But I didn’t buy a limo.” He winked at her.
Christiana rolled her eyes. “Oh, well, in that case…”
Their number was called and they went to the window, retrieving boxes of toasty, melty cheese and bread, bags of locally made chips, and vintage-style soda. They claimed a small bistro table near a heat lamp. Christiana tucked her feet together between the narrow legs of the table. She hadn’t exactly forgotten the plug was there, but sitting made it shift and move. Impossible to ignore. James very deliberately placed his legs along the outside of hers, on either side of her chair, caging her in.
His gaze was scorching, studying her with an intensity that was both arousing and made her feel like she was being hunted. Maybe that was what she found arousing, this feeling that he was a predator and she was his prey.
Their food was still too hot to eat, so they sat for a moment.
“How do you feel?” he asked softly, his tone making it clear he was talking about the plug.
“Full,” she whispered in reply.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“What about your ass? Sitting in the car, and sitting now—both those must cause you pain.”
“The chair is cold, which feels kind of nice.”
“I will help you ice it again tonight.”
“That’s okay…”
He smiled. “I want to help you.”
Christiana touched her sandwich. It was still too hot to pick up, which meant she didn’t have the convenient “my mouth is full” excuse for avoiding the conversation. “I know what you’ll do if I let you near me with ice.”
“Oh? What will I do?”
“On the checklist, there was ice play. And ice insertion.”
His lips twitched, but instead of replying, he opened his bag of chips, offering her one. He’d gotten salt and vinegar, so she declined. He looked in the bag, selected a chip, and crunched.
“You’re bad.” She opened her own bag of chips.
“And does it scare you or excite you?” he asked
She popped a chip in her mouth and crunched noisily. That plan didn’t quite work the way she hoped it would, because when he said, “Do you like the idea of me pulling the plug out, pushing a hard, cold ice cube inside of you and then putting the plug back in?” she choked on bits of chips and had to cough into her napkin.
James sat back in his seat, grinning at her as she wiped her mouth.
She checked her sandwich again, this time picking it up and taking a bite. Once she did, James picked up his own sandwich. Sex was forgotten, if only momentarily, as they instead focused on the pleasure of a truly decadent dinner.
When they rose to leave, James slipped his hand into his pocket. The plug started to vibrate. Christiana grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the gate.
James chuckled, and it had a distinctly evil note to it.
Her nipples were hard, her pussy ached with need. She wanted to get back to the house. Now.
Chapter 7
James opened the door to the rental property, motioning for Christiana to precede him. She was already taking off her coat by the time he closed the door, so he leapt to help her. She paused for a moment, as if surprised, then relaxed into it.
“Why don’t you go to the bathroom and remove the plug?”
She turned to look at him, frowning, but nodded and went to the small guest bath under the stairs. He quickly picked up the copies of the contract he’d made, then returned to wait for her.
She opened the bathroom door. She’d washed the plug and left it sitting on a neatly folded square of toilet paper on the edge of the sink.
“Let’s sit in the dining room.” James put action to words, leading Christiana through the first floor to the small formal dining room.
“I’m stuffed,” she protested.
“We’re not going to eat, we’re going to negotiate.”
“Oh. Oh.”
He held out a chair for her at one end of table, then took a seat across from her, the length of the table between them. He’d been thinking about, and rehearsing, what he would say since they left dinner. It had taken that long to work through his emotions enough that he was confident he would be able to discuss this without letting his vehement hatred of the idea of anyone else ever touching her show. It had also taken him that long to convince himself to go through with this part of her training rather than turning on the plug to max and eating her sweet pussy the second they walked in the door.
She looked at him expectantly. Time to get out of his head.
“When you negotiate a scene, it’s important that you do it on equal footing. That’s why I had you remove the plug.”
She perched on the edge of the chair, looking down at the tabletop. He wanted her to look up so he could read her expression, but that would be an order, and the whole point was for there to be no commands, not during negotiation.
“Here is a copy of a contract.” He rose and brought it to her, placing it in front of her. “Contracts can be used in different ways. Some people have a contract for every scene, some people have a standing contract between them and their partner, and once that is negotiated, they don’t negotiate each scene.” He took his own seat. “Shall we go over the contract?”
“I’d… I’d rather not. Unless we have to, for us to keep… touching one another.”
“I want you to understand how to protect yourself.”
“I asked you not to talk about what I have to do when I’m with other people.”
“I’m not.” Not directly, at least. “The contract is set up to—”
“I’m not an idiot, I can figure out a contract,” she snapped.
James’s feelings, only barely leashed, fought to get free. “What would you like to do then?” he asked in as soft a voice as he could manage.
She raised her chin. “Let’s negotiate a scene.”
“Very well. Let’s.”
Christiana
stared at him, face defiant. “I want to orgasm five times.”
James’s anger melted as his lips twitched. “An interesting opening tactic.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Are you challenging me?”
“If you don’t think you can manage it…”
“Oh, Christiana, my sweet, you are poking the viper.”
“You’ll bite me?”
“I’ll do more than bite you.”
She shrugged negligently. “Maybe.”
“You think because your backside is bruised that I won’t punish you?”
“You mean leave me?” she asked softly.
Silence hung in the air between them.
“Impact play,” he said, forcing out the words. “What are you willing to do?”
“No slappers,” she said immediately.
James gripped the sides of the table, knuckles going white as his mind treated him to a vivid image of her naked and scared, some hulking moron beating her black and blue.
“No slappers,” he agreed. “And nothing on your ass or legs, at least until you heal. What about bondage?”
“I like it?” she asked, no longer sounding angry, but rather bemused.
He, too, relaxed. “Yes, you do, my sweet. Ropes, cuffs, tape?”
“Tape? No tape. That’s too serial killer-y.”
“And gagging? You indicated you were willing to try that.”
She pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No. Not for this scene. I’m allowed to say no, right, even if I put maybe on the checklist?”
“You’re always allowed to say no. Consent is the foundation of any sort of responsible BDSM play. What you should not do is agree to something you don’t want, so that, during the scene, you can use your safe word.”
“People do that? Plan on using their safe word?”
“There are some submissives who suffer from damsel-in-distress syndrome—they want the Dom to place them in peril, so they can then play the victim. If that is your kink, you have to state that, and find someone willing to play along. It sometimes goes hand in hand with rape fantasy scenarios.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want that.”
“I didn’t imagine you did. Can I ask, and I want to make clear that you are welcome to refuse to answer, why you don’t want to be gagged?”
He expected her to say she was scared of not being able to use her safe word—he was going to use it as an opening to talk about alternatives to verbal safe words—but she surprised him.
“I like talking to you,” she said simply.
He stared at her, and the distance between them seemed too great. He wanted to touch her.
“In summary,” he said, voice deeper than it had been a moment ago. “You want five orgasms, will accept impact play, do not want to be gagged for this scene, and agree to be bound.”
“Yes…” She looked wary. “Am I missing anything? I mean, did I do it right?”
“You are not missing anything, and you did it perfectly,” he assured her. “Unless there is anything else you want to limit, because as it stands, besides gags, and anything specific to your ass, like spanking, I can do anything to you that is on your checklist.”
“As long as you give me five orgasms,” she agreed haughtily. “Oh, wait. How long? I just realized you might claim the scene is like… five days long or something.”
“Until dusk or dawn is customary,” he said. “And you’re playing with fire, insulting my ability to give you orgasms.”
Now she smiled in truth. “Just want to keep you motivated.”
He rose from the table. “You have thirty minutes to prepare yourself. I expect you waiting, in whatever clothing and position you feel appropriate, in the parlor.”
Christiana stood. “Is there a shower I can use?”
“You only have a half hour,” he warned.
“I know.”
“Upstairs.”
She turned to walk out, but he called out to stop her. “Christiana?”
She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Don’t wear anything you’re not willing to have ripped off.”
She took a deep breath, her gaze full of heat, then whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
Christiana was nervous, which seemed ridiculous since she’d been with James before. But for the first time in her life, she was going into a BDSM scene the right way—eyes wide open, everything arranged and negotiated the way it should be. And in another first, this time she didn’t have to worry about pretending to be something she wasn’t.
She wore a simple, short nightgown—one of the only lingerie-like items she’d been able to find during her frantic packing session. Ginger had given it to her one year when they’d done Galentine’s Day in single-lady protest of Valentine’s Day. It was black, with wide lace straps, and lace around the mid-thigh-length hem.
She’d had a quick shower and her hair was wet, but she hadn’t had time to do anything besides towel-dry it, so she curled her hair into a bun at the top of her head, securing it with a decorative wooden fork hair accessory she’d grabbed at the last minute. She had thick hair, so the pretty piece of curved wood wasn’t practical, but she figured for something like this, it was perfect.
She debated how she should position herself, and finally settled on “kneeling up” on the rug in front of the fire, her palms turned out the way he’d instructed her. The thick rug protected her knees from the hardwood, and the position kept her abused backside from touching anything.
She wasn’t wearing a watch, or any jewelry for that matter, so it felt like time stretched on as she waited. With each moment that passed, her stomach knotted tighter, her breath coming in shallower pants.
She heard him first, his measured footsteps on the hardwood. They sounded soft—he was barefoot.
Maybe he was naked. The mental image of a totally naked James made her nipples hard, and she had to consciously control her breathing as she heard him walk into the room. She kept her chin up but gaze on the floor, and a moment later she saw him—at least from the knees down. She was right, he was barefoot, but sadly not naked. He wore a pair of dark slacks, and she could see the dangling tails of the ends of his shirt, which was unbuttoned and untucked. He was more naked than normal. She’d take that.
“Safe word,” he murmured.
“Engineer,” she replied in a matching quiet tone.
“You look lovely, Christiana.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I’d like to see more of your lovely body. Slide the straps of your negligee off your shoulders.”
She did as he commanded, the neckline sinking an inch but not falling.
His right hand, which he’d been holding behind him, appeared. He was holding a crop.
She sucked in some air, her nightgown sliding down a bit more as her breasts rose on the inhale.
The tip of the crop pressed up under her chin. He applied pressure until she tilted her head, looking up at him. “Scared?”
“A little.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He slid the folded flap of leather at the top of the crop down the front of her neck, over her collarbone, and then under the nightgown. With a small flick, he yanked it down, the fabric pooling around her knees, leaving her naked before him.
“Beautiful. Exquisite.” When he said it, she felt it—she believed it.
James extended one hand, and she placed her fingers in his, rising to her feet, stepping out of her nightgown. James plucked it off the floor, tossing it to one side. Now that she was standing, she could see he had brought his leather kit and set it on the couch. He went to the kit now, opening and unrolling it.
It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at what was inside, and her brain went in to overdrive at the possibilities. There were ropes and cuffs, a variety of vibrators and plugs. There was a pocket filled with condoms and another with what looked like surgical gloves. Several tubes of what she a
ssumed were lube; a short, round paddle; the hairbrush she knew so well; and several crops. Those were the things she could see. There were plenty of closed pockets that must have contained smaller items.
She was so focused on the kit that the first slap from the crop took her by surprise.
He struck her hip, staying well away from the bruises Dino had left. She jumped.
“Focus on the now,” he said. “You’re thinking, maybe worrying, about what’s going to happen.”
“A little,” she confessed.
He walked around her, trailing the tip of the crop over her waist and back in a sinuous, snake-like pattern. “Ah, but don’t you see, you have no control over what will happen now. Worrying or guessing will not change what I’m going to do to you. You have given me control, and in exchange, you are free.”
“Free?”
“All you have to do is trust and accept.”
His words slid over her, and she found herself relaxing. He was right, and she knew he was because she’d felt it before, that wonderful freedom of giving up control. He slid the head of the crop up the midline of her body, between her breasts and up her neck. She tipped her chin up and back until she was looking at the ceiling. The crop lifted away from her skin, and despite her newfound calm, she held her breath in anticipation of the blow.
This time he struck the outside of her right breast. It didn’t really hurt, but it made a nice slapping sound, which had more emotional than physical impact. Another slap, this time to the outside of her other breast.
“Does that hurt?”
“No, Sir. It feels… good.”
“Impact play can, and most of the time should, feel good. Though I am, of course, being gentle with your lovely breasts.” He dipped his head, and his warm mouth closed over her nipple. He laved it with his tongue before sucking hard on the peak. She arched into his mouth, and it was a struggle to keep her hands at her sides. She wanted to twine her fingers through his hair.
He switched to the other breast, sucking and nipping, and this time she couldn’t resist. She grabbed his head, pressing his face against her breasts even as she arched into him, standing on her toes. For one glorious minute, his face was pressed hard into her breast, then the crop lashed against her calf, now with a bit more bite to it, and she yelped, releasing him.
