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First the cuffs. When she fitted one around her wrist, latching it with that ticking click noise, she remembered Logan's fingers circling her wrist. When she secured the other cuff, a tiny expulsion of cream bloomed against the crotch of her thong, dampening her flesh. Nerves tingled across her breasts as if his fingertips had teased the flesh there.
She'd gotten into the habit of treating a self-inflicted climax like the impulse decision to eat a cookie. Empty calories but instant gratification, no matter the shame or regret afterward. It was easy enough to do, whether by manual or electronic means. As such, she thought about lying down on the floor right now to masturbate. Given how the cuffs were affecting her, she expected it wouldn't take long. More empty calories, but the impulse was strong. Really strong.
If Logan was here, he'd order her to go through with the whole experiment first, denying her. Building her response, much like the very thought of him making her do his bidding did now. More dampness between her thighs, a hard contraction that made it even more difficult to resist that masturbation urge. If the mere idea of Logan bending her to his will could result in that reaction, how dangerous would the reality be?
Gerald had told her BDSM was deviant behavior, something that could quickly become a sex addiction if she indulged it. Since he'd treated patients who'd gotten lost in that world, he'd unnerved her with the half-assed diagnosis. Probably the only thing that had saved her from being fully sucked in was Alice's reaction to the comment when she'd told her about it. What a fucking idiot. The other thing that had kept her from being swayed was his delivery, more a resentful accusation than the honest concern of a lover.
This was just her in her living room. No accusations against, no persuasive suggestions for. Just her own mind and her own reactions to face.
Alice had always kept the living area clear to do her yoga, which made it the best area to do it. Logan had been here, tending Alice, so he knew the layout of her house. At his store today, would he be thinking about Madison doing this, in the thong and choker? If she invited him to dinner at some point, would he stand in the doorway to this room and visualize her kneeling here?
Of course he would. For all his Master-of-the-Universe routine, he was a guy. The moment he'd said thong to her, he'd probably stripped off all her clothes in his mind. From here forward, if she wore a parka to work, he'd still see her as a naked paper doll.
He'd probably chuckle at her cynical observation, making her nerve endings ripple with the masculine sound. Hell, just hearing it in her head, they danced. Kneeling on the carpet, she shifted into a seated position on her hip and reached into the box with her bound hands to remove the deck. She loosened the drawstring bag so the cards could slide out. The backs displayed a brilliant blue color with detailed gold edging. A note had been slipped under the band holding the cards, the folded top showing more of his neat handwriting.
Read this. Don't look at cards first.
She opened up the note and found a repeat of the instructions he'd given her. Had he given these out before? And to whom? It didn't matter. She could hear his voice, his calm, authoritative way of talking as she read the words.
Fan out the cards in a circle around you, face down. Choose thirteen at random to turn over. Whatever is on the card, consider how that picture or word makes you feel. Does your pulse elevate? Are you afraid? Intrigued? Aroused? If it's a body part, touch yourself there. Think about someone else touching you there. Let the cards create a fantasy for you.
She laid out the cards around her. In the center of that blue field on the back of each card was a single gold star, something that had been obscured by his note. While it was pretty, eye-catching, the face sides were works of art.
Her first card showed a fecund goddess with heavy, bare breasts lying amid lush red flowers. In the top left corner, in bold calligraphy, was the word Breast. At the bottom right corner was a smaller word, the ink more refined. Heart.
She thought about the direction on the note. Touch yourself. The goddess in the picture was doing it, supporting one breast in a hand. Madison cupped her own breast, ran her fingers over it. She imagined herself as that goddess, drawing a male like Troy to her, an earth mother offering sustenance and pleasure. Bringing his mouth to her nipple, she'd cup his head, twine her fingers idly through his sandy hair as he pulled on her breast and desire swirled in her loins like planets orbiting a sun.
Her mind twitched impatiently away from that, toward far more dangerous imagery. Logan's hand closing over her breast, possessing it, thumb passing over the nipple, his other hand at her waist, holding her still as he bent. He didn't intend to suckle her like a child of her universe. He was here to conquer a goddess, so he captured the nipple in his heated mouth, nipping and pulling on it in a way she felt all the way to her womb, making her thighs loosen for him . . .
She turned over another card, the next word sending an arrow of sensation directly to the subject. Cunt. It was in white letters against a black cavernous circle, around which were twined black and red roses. A snake made a circle around all of it. A smaller word was printed in the lower right corner, against a tiny blood red heart. Soul.
Curious, she chose three more cards and discovered the same pairing pattern: Possession/surrender. Pain/release. Blindfold/trust.
She stared at that last card for a while. It showed a man and woman twined together, bound by red rope so they couldn't move, but they didn't look as if they desired to do so. His arms were wrapped over her shoulders, hers threaded beneath his to cling to his waist and back, her face pressed into his chest. She was the one blindfolded.
Two more cards. Collar/belonging. Whip/flight.
Her reaction was climbing at an exponential rate, the flesh between her legs throbbing, her neck pulse thumping. With every restless shift of her body, she was reminded she wore the cuffs, the choker, the thong. She looked like a submissive, a sex slave, kneeling on the floor and playing sensual games with herself until her Master came home.
Unnerved by the thought, she forced the focus from herself to Logan's training of Troy. She imagined the male submissive in nothing but a collar, kneeling in an aisle of the store while customers moved around him, unconcerned, knowing he was waiting for his Master . . . Was he waiting for his command? His punishment?
He would be staring at the floor. She couldn't see herself in the same position, surrounded by people like that. Or could she?
As her mind's wheels turned, she flipped six more cards, taking her to the thirteen. Then she kept going, until she'd turned over all of them. They ran the gamut of sexual play, from positions, to role playing, to toys . . .
She slid from her hip down onto her back, the slick cards pressing against her skin. She stretched her cuffed hands over her head, her body elongating, arching up, as if she were displaying herself for a lover. She wanted to spread her thighs, wanted to be commanded to spread them. She wanted his hands gripping her, pushing them apart, making her do his will. She closed her eyes, not wanting the reality of her surroundings judging her.
She rotated her hips, taunting him. Yes, she was bound to his will, but she would do all she could with her body to beg him to come to her, to touch her. He would stand back in the shadows and watch, letting the moments stretch out, her body getting more and more excited as she lifted her hips, lowered them as if he was already inside her. Fucking her. He wouldn't let her demand, wouldn't let her take control. He would let her keep doing what she was doing for his pleasure, his enjoyment, and that would just make her hotter.
Now at last he would speak. Touch yourself, Madison. Rub your cunt for me.
She shuddered at the thought of his whisper, his fiery eyes burning her. She lowered her hands, and when the cool metal of the cuffs pressed against her pelvis, her fingers reaching her clit, her body bucked up, ass and shoulders pressed into the floor. A gasp broke from her lips. "Yeeess . . . please . . ."
He liked her begging, enough to make her do it for all eternity. He was a sadist, and she craved that, didn't want him to give in to her. She wanted to know he held the power, the decisions. That she, the ultimate control freak, controlled nothing. Her only choice was to belong to him.
Sliding her fingers beneath the thong, she found her labia silky slick with her juices. She tweaked her clit, stroked the tender inner crevices that had so many nerve endings. She pushed up beneath the clit hood, increasing the intensity there, and then slipped her fingers inside herself. Watching her fuck herself with her fingers would make him harder, maybe make him take a step out of the shadows. That powerful body getting closer . . . She thought of his muscled chest beneath her hand, fingers twining and tugging on his chest hair.
She rose and fell, her hips twisting and grinding against her touch and the floor. The cuffs pressed into her lower abdomen, her thighs, and the fingers of the hand she wasn't using dug into soft flesh. "Please . . . may I . . . let me . . ." She whispered it, and heard--at long, long last--the order.
