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  His fingers traced the outline of the bra. One of those surreptitiously padded jobs that forced the breasts together and up so a wonderful cleavage formed between them. John had noticed that cleavage as soon as he’d opened the door. She’d left one extra button of her blouse undone just to show it off. Another point in her favor.

  Leaving the warmth of her breasts, he explored deeper. Her skirt’s elastic waistband posed no impediment to his explorations. Tempted as he was to head straight to her pussy, they had the entire afternoon. A quick glance at the clock on the highboy showed it was 2:25. Plenty of time.

  His hand, instead, cupped her nearly naked ass. John had given her no instructions as to what to wear, but clearly Lauren knew what she wanted. Only a small thong covered her mound and pussy, he could feel the thin strap over her hip. She moved against him, angling to give him better access, and another one of those marvelous little whimpers escaped her throat.

  “You like this,” he murmured into her ear, more a statement of fact than an attempt to persuade.

  “Yes.” With her head still tilted back, even though his hand had long left her neck, her voice came out wispy and a little strained. Could that be because she’d already moved into that mysterious zone known as “sub space”?

  He still held her wrists behind her. Letting them go, he brought his hand up to rest on her shoulder. A warm breeze wafted in through the room’s open window and she lifted her head to it, inhaling even as she rubbed her arms.

  From outside came the sound of a lawnmower a few doors down. John smiled. He loved the juxtaposition of normalcy with what conspired in his bedroom. If they only knew of the little piece of heaven he had carved for the two of them today.

  Lauren definitely liked this. She hadn’t lied when John asked her. Having nothing to do except exist held some tantalizing advantages. If she thought about it, existing was all she’d been doing for the past several months, making no decisions, having no direction. With a smile, she shoved those thoughts aside. Today existed only for John and her. She hadn’t made any decisions about those outside matters so far, they could wait another day.

  A straight-back chair had been added to the room. John left her, pulled it to the center of the room and straddled it, his arms over the back. With a challenge in his eyes he gave her a one-word command. “Strip.”

  Lauren laughed. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She looked again and realized he wasn’t playing. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, she debated what item to take off first. He’d already discovered she wore nothing but a thong under the skirt, so she hooked her thumbs into the elastic and slid it down over her hips, letting it puddle at her feet. She slipped her sandals off next.

  He watched, dispassionate. That unnerved her a little more. She had a good body. Being in the ER had meant building muscles. Being in the Army had meant keeping in shape. Maybe she didn’t do it right? Strippers got men excited all the time. Should she put a little oomph into it?

  Deciding on the side of the tease, she slowly slid one strap of her bra down her arm, then the other. Reaching behind her, she undid the clasp then brought the red lace down her arms and off her body. Unsure where to put it, she dropped it on top of the skirt at her feet.

  Hooking her thumbs in the band, she slid the thong down to her ankles, then off each foot. Again she dropped it to the floor.

  “Fold the clothes and put them on the empty spot on the dresser behind you.”

  Frowning a little, she did as he told her. Taking orders didn’t feel unnatural to her. As an officer she gave as many as she took though. These commands, however, had a different tone entirely. Setting the folded garments on the dresser, she took a good look at the implements he had laid out there. Despite her misgivings, her pussy moistened at the sight of all that leather and rubber.

  Turning, she tried to figure out how to stand. This was a new one for her—standing naked before a man who did nothing but look you over as if he were deciding which might be the most vulnerable point to attack first. She put her chin out, defiant. Her hands went on her hips and she turned completely around before him.

  “Like what you see? Think you might buy it?”

  “I think it talks too much.”

  Her jaw dropped. Talked too much? It? Just what did he think…?

  Before she could answer he stood and approached her. “I think it needs to learn the value of silence.”

  He held up a small ball gag and waited. Clearly this would be her call. She nodded, still struggling over the pronoun “it”. Yes, she’d been the first to use the term, but she’d meant her body. He meant her being. Suddenly being deprived of personhood sent her further into uncertainty.

  John smiled as he stepped behind her to seat and buckle the rubber gag under her ponytail. Introducing conflict. He’d thought telling her to strip might be enough. Calling her “it”, however, proved much more effective. Sliding the strap in, he finished the exposition of the scene with one last command. “Try to push it out.” When she couldn’t, he gathered her in tightly, her back to his chest, her arms pinned at her sides.

  “Remember you have given yourself to me. You exist as a separate entity no longer. You are simply an object for me to use as I see fit. Nothing more.”

  Behind the gag, another whimper. Mind-fucks held incredible power to arouse and over the years John had learned to employ them to his advantage. Keeping her held tightly, he pushed her toward the bed. Had she seen the cuffs laid at the foot? Turning her to face him, he didn’t give her time to react, pushing her so she fell backward onto the soft mattress.

  Before she’d finished her bounce he had one ankle in his hand, the cuff already slapping around it. He fit the D-ring through the slit so that the leather encased her ankle and picked up the small lock that would keep it in place. By that time she’d nearly recovered, getting her elbows under her to raise her body. John locked the cuff and dropped her foot.

  “Give me your other foot.”

  He didn’t give her a choice, and yet he did. By giving the command he gave her the option to refuse. The reality of the scene differed from the illusion. He gave the orders, but she was in command.

  Slowly she lifted her leg. John quickly affixed the second cuff, again locking it into place. Then, before she understood what he was about, he grabbed one of the silver poles resting against the wall and, using a quick-release catch, hooked it to the second cuff.

  To reach the first one, however, he had to spread her legs farther apart. Not giving her a choice this time, he simply pushed them and fastened the other quick-release. Now her legs couldn’t come together no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes widened in astonishment.

  John gave her a moment to try figuring out what kinds of movement she did have. The one-inch catches that fastened her cuffs to the spreader bar gave her a little room to maneuver, limited though it might be. Satisfied with the range, he held out his hand and helped her to stand.

  “Over to the chair,” he instructed.

  Clearly she wanted to say something to him. Her look implied enough that he figured she’d scold him for not putting them on while she stood next to the chair so she wouldn’t have to duck-waddle her way over, leaning on him for support.

  Of course that was exactly the lesson she needed to learn from this small exercise. She needed to learn dependence, specifically, dependence on him. Trust. Not easy for anyone to learn after a lifetime of messages training the mind to think for itself. Yet, in power-exchanging, she gave that up. The look alone gave evidence she didn’t find this an easy task.

  Once he had her positioned behind the chair, he grabbed a poly-fill pillow from the pile at the side of the room and placed it over the back of the chair, one hand on her back to guide her down and over it. “Hands on the seat for now,” he told her, making sure the pillow didn’t slide forward too much. Her feet, firmly planted on the floor behind the chair, didn’t rise and he nodded. Good. He’d only eyeballed this particular chai
r as being the right height for her. Sliding a hand between the pillow and her waist, he double-checked to be sure she could breathe. Satisfied, he moved to the next step. Time for another mind-fuck.

  He ran his hand around her waist and over her very exposed buttocks. “You have a very spankable ass, you know. Just perfect for paddling.”

  A sound came from the other end of her bent body and he realized she tried to talk around the gag. She stopped when he bent and took her hand in his.

  “Tied tightly, I told you. So tight you couldn’t move.” As he spoke, he slid a black leather cuff around her left wrist, again fastening it with a small lock. “I am a man of promises, as I showed you the other night.” He locked the right wrist in its case, then idly took a small length of clothesline and looped it through the D-ring.

  “You will not be able to escape me. You will wonder just why you let yourself get put in this position.” He placed her arm alongside the seat and brought the rope down to the chair rung, stretching her arm out to tie it tightly. Her hand dangled, useless.

  Keeping his voice calm and neutral, he continued. “Part of you will scream with anger at what I do to you. Part of you will wonder if you’ve gone insane.” He cuffed and tied off the other arm, pulling her slightly forward in the process. He put his mouth next to her ear. “But the biggest part of you will let go of all that and force the others to go along for the ride.”

  He stood and walked around behind her again. “And do you know why? Because deep down inside yourself, so deep even you don’t look very often, down where you keep your darkest secrets—you want this.” He ran his hand along her back, watching her shiver. “You like this.” He paused to pick up the paddle from the dresser. “You need this.”

  He simply set the cold surface of the paddle on her skin, nothing more. She cried out and John knew if he ran a finger through her slit it would come up soaked with her juices.

  “You came from a simple flogging before. Can you come from a spanking?”

  He threw the words down, half in challenge, half in curiosity. Taking aim, he let the paddle fall.

  Lauren nearly came with the first slap of the paddle against her ass. God, what he did to her. She did like this. She did want it. No, she needed it. How did he know?

  Several times the paddle landed on the tender flesh, each slap making her gasp, not in pain, but anguish of a different sort. Her pussy cried out for relief. Unknowingly, so did her voice.

  He pulled her up by her ponytail. “Is it ready to come so soon?” he asked her. An object, he treated her like a toy for his amusement. She nodded into his fist.

  The paddle slapped her ass again, harder. “You will come only at my command, do you understand?”

  She nodded and the paddle descended again. A war began between her mind and body. She wanted to come, but he demanded her obedience. Another thwack and she cried out again, desperate to hold on.

  “I will count from four down to one. On one, you may come.”

  The paddle fell in the same place as the last time, the sting nearly making her crawl out of her skin. She couldn’t move. Not a single inch. Between the bar holding her legs apart, the angle at which she hung over the back of the chair, the ties on her arms and now his hand holding her head captive by her ponytail, she could only hang suspended at his commands.

  “Four.”

  The paddle again on the same spot. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t wait. Yet she must.

  “Three.”

  Her cry, strangled by the gag, came out garbled. In her head she said, “I can’t. I can’t hold it.” And yet she did, for she was his to command.

  “Two.”

  She whimpered, grabbing at the last shreds of control.

  “One. Come for me.”

  He felt her body convulse under his hands. No sounds came from behind the gag now, her orgasm had gone internal. The chair rocked and he steadied it, watching her pleasure flush her skin. The thrill of power started a wonderful tension coiling in his groin and he stood back as the orgasm left her, admiring her ass, now turned a beautiful shade of pink.

  Bending to remove the spreader bar, he helped her put her feet together, inhaling deeply the musky scent that proved her arousal. Reaching forward, he slipped the knots on the ropes to free her arms. When her hands pushed her body up a little on the chair, he smiled, glad to see she wasn’t all that far gone yet. The afternoon was still young and there was lots more where that came from.

  “Stand slowly. Your blood is uneven right now.”

  She rose, and when he caught her eyes, he saw she glowed. The pink cheeks of her face matched the pink of her ass and she grinned around the gag. He should get that out. Her jaw wasn’t used to it and would be tired, if it wasn’t already. Stepping behind her, he unclasped the buckle then gently removed the gag. A strand of drool came along with it and she chuckled.

  “That’s what you get when I can’t hardly swallow,” she managed as she wiped the drool on her chin with her hand.

  “Nothing I mind. Come, sit for a moment while I clean up.” She moved to the front of the chair and he hovered beside her, wanting to be sure she wasn’t going to fall over in a dead faint from the sudden standing.

  “I’m okay,” she reassured him. Then her ass touched the seat and she flinched.

  “Are you sure?”

  She gave a low chuckle and eased herself down, sitting slightly to the side, keeping the side he’d been harshest on up a little. “I’m fine.”

  “Then I’ll just rinse this off.”

  John left her to take the gag to the bathroom and run it under water. This would be her gag. No one else had ever used it. No one else ever would. Leaving it on the side of the sink to dry, he returned. She still sat where he’d left her, turning the wrist cuffs around and around, examining them for every detail.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “With these? Or with that experience?”

  “Both.” He picked up the spreader bar and put it back against the wall, then came forward and knelt before her, untying the ropes from the chair as they talked.

  “Well, these are quite interesting. I wondered what it would feel like to be fettered, but these are actually pretty comfortable.” She jiggled her wrists. “And the locks sound like jingle bells!”

  “How do you feel about wearing them?”

  Her face grew thoughtful and she dropped her hands to her lap, her gaze still fixed on the locks. “I’m not sure. This is all so new for me, I’m not sure where the symbolism stops and the practicality begins.”

  John sat back and nodded. “There are a lot of emotional overtones that come out of BDSM. I have two friends whose wives are also their slaves. Completely. Total ownership transfer.” He watched to see if he shocked her and felt some surprise that he didn’t. She simply nodded and waited for him to continue his thought.

  “I also have another friend whose total BDSM kink is putting pillows over his partner’s wrists and ankles and telling her not to move. She doesn’t and they call that kinky.”

  Lauren chuckled. “After what you just did to me? I’d call that vanilla!”

  “What did you like most about that small scene?”

  “Small scene? I came like nobody’s business and you never once even touched my clit. How did you do that?”

  Now it was John’s turn to chuckle. “I didn’t. The best orgasms start in the brain. You, my dear young lady, have an excellent brain.”

  Her blush had faded but now it came up again at the compliment. “Thank you. But seriously, I thought friction to be a necessary part of pushing the orgasm along.”

  John nodded. “For most people, I think that’s so. A combination of mood and physical touch is needed. But for others…” He gestured to Lauren. “Others have such powerful imaginations that, coupled with a small amount of sexual pain—”

  “Like the paddling,” Lauren interrupted.

  “Like the paddling,” John acknowledged. “That’s all you need to pus
h you over the edge. Not that a little physical friction isn’t also sometimes needed.” He grinned and Lauren suddenly saw the wolf hidden under his sheep’s clothing. Her still-moist pussy suddenly twinged.

  A thought occurred to her. “You didn’t come yet.”

  John stood. “Not yet. I usually can manage two, sometimes three times in a twenty-four-hour period. I don’t want to waste one too early.”

  Again she blushed, suddenly feeling like a schoolgirl. Well, wasn’t she? John, a teacher in the outside world, also became a teacher here in the bedroom, helping her understand not only what he wanted from her, but what she wanted from herself.

  Chapter Eleven

  John held out his hand. “Break’s over. Back on your feet.”

  Lauren put her hand in his without hesitation. He hauled her up, cuffs jingling, but instead of pulling her into his arms, he led her only a few steps from the chair before leaving her and moving the chair back against the wall.

  “There are three types of binding,” he explained as he picked up a small hank of white cotton rope. “Constriction prevents movement.” He uncoiled it and dropped the majority to the floor. Finding the two ends, he slid the soft rope through his hands to find the middle. “We’ve done that both times.” He chuckled. “To great effect, I might add.”

  Lauren grinned in return. “Definitely to great effect.”

  He came behind her, bringing the rope over her head to center it just under her breasts, pulling it back toward him and crossing it tightly. She gasped and took a wider stance. He waited for her to settle again before bringing the rope to the front again and crossing it up between her breasts, bringing the ropes to the back again.