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"Think about your subs. Those preparations you've chosen to do yourself.
Understanding what they were feeling as they submitted to your touch, knowing everything you did to them was your Will. Because it brought you pleasure and them pleasure as well. All right?"
She nodded, a bare movement, her gaze on something distant. Using a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. "Unlike some Masters, Marguerite, remember, I want you to always look at me when I speak at you. "
When she raised her lashes, those clear pale eyes focused on his. His heart lurched at the visible attempt to keep panic under wraps. This was more than a Domme wary or even anxious about losing control. From her violent reaction at the table, he knew it sincerely frightened her.
Taking both of her hands, he held them, encasing ice in warmth. Letting her feel the pressure of his fingers. "I'm going to undress you now. You'll stay still, only moving when I tell you that you have permission to move. Tell me you understand. " She nodded again, a quick jerk.
When he unbuttoned her cuffs and took the shirt off then the bra, Marguerite couldn't help but notice the gentle strength of his hands. She often shied away from being touched by adults, though she could manage the casual cordial touches that typified Southern relations in her tearoom with clients like Mrs. Allen. The few times a man had touched her she'd been neutral about it, uncertain or decidedly uncomfortable.
This felt different, this slow glide of skin over skin, again that heat sinking into her, the power that could take her over, force her physically to do what she didn't think she wanted to do.
Her unfastened trousers were low on her hips and he slipped those down her legs, circling her hips with one arm to steady her, his palm comfortably braced on her buttock as he removed her shoes.
While she did prepare her subs herself to a certain extent, she knew that he was aware she mainly focused on restraints. This intimacy she did not do. She usually had her subs undress themselves if they were not already restrained but oddly it did not seem servile for him to be attending to it. It felt like he'd taken the reins from her and was handling everything. Keeping it personal.
When he took her slacks over her feet she had nowhere but his shoulders to place her hands for balance, so she cupped one palm over the solid bone and muscle, feeling the fabric of his shirt, the shift of his body as he removed her panties. His thumbs slid intimately into the crease between thigh and pubis, making her feel the slick moisture there because of the startling climax he had pulled from her body. It wouldn't happen again. He'd caught her off guard. Her experiencing sexual pleasure wasn't one of the requirements and she needed to exercise better control. He probably thought her a poor Mistress, so quickly gotten off.
Why did she care what he thought? And why was she vacillating between professional pride and female vulnerability?
"You're thinking so hard there's smoke coming out of your ears. " He rubbed his thumb over her clit, making her gasp. "You're still swollen there. You'll arouse again in no time. You're so beautiful, angel. "
She blinked, surprised. She hadn't anticipated romance but it was in his face and voice as he looked at her. The sternness of a Master was in the set of his jaw and eyes, the resolution. That, along with the proprietary gaze he directed over her body created resentment but she knew that was knee-jerk and likely based on fear. Below that was something else, something that left her a little breathless and weak-kneed, an altogether perplexing reaction for her.
His gaze descended, lingered on the ragged scar just below her knee, an oblong, rough-edged mark.
"Looks like a bone came through there. " He went lower, to the second one at her shin. "And there. " His fingers touched it. "Part your thighs for me. " Determined not to hesitate, she took one step out, as rigid as a soldier. But it seemed her muscles could not help tensing as his touch followed the inside line of her thigh.
She had to will herself not to clamp her thighs shut. "Clasp your hands behind your back, Marguerite. "
The classic sub pose, allowing the Master unimpeded access to touch anything he wished.
Legs spread, arms self-restrained and out of the way. His thumb and forefinger gently pinched her clit again, then he combed through the soft down of clipped hair over her pussy, his attention traveling up to her breasts, now tilted up from his ordered pose.
"You'll be lovely shaved. "
"Why is it that men like a woman's pussy so bare?"
"To see it better, of course. And because a woman reacts so much more intensely when the skin is exposed to the least amount of friction. You keep yours nicely trimmed, though. Why do you, since you rarely take your clothes off at The Zone?"
"I. . . I like the way it feels. Shorter. "
"Hmm. Well, it's about to be not only short but gone. " When he pressed a control, she watched amazed as a stone square slab rose up in the center of the bathing pool until it was about six inches from the surface of the water. There were eye bolts embedded along the sides. Then he drew a full head mask from between two of the bathing towels. The mask only had one opening, for the mouth.
"When I lay you down on that tablet, I'll put this on you and bind your legs, arms and upper torso securely using those bolts. " His voice was mild, inexorable, his eyes pinning her in place. "Once I have you immobilized with the mask on, I'll tilt the stone tablet so your head and upper body just past the breasts will be below the surface of the water. Your hips, pussy and ass will be just above it, elevated so I can do a better job of removing the hair. " He picked up a soft rubber tube and mouthpiece. "This will allow you to breathe. "
She stared at him. "Well, I guess when I said do it all at once. . . " She broke off, took a step back. Then another. "I. . . No. Please don't make me do this. " Her fingers curled into fists, ready to fight, to claw, to do whatever needed to be done.
He sat down, a hip on the edge of the bathing pool, studied her with an expression that was far too compassionate. "You're not a prisoner here. "
"Yes, I am. Because I know I have to do this as long as you're asking it. But if you don't ask, I don't have to. " I won't have failed. I'm not a coward.
He nodded. "I can see how you'd see it that way. But Marguerite, listen to me. I know how hard this is for you. It seems daunting, terrible. But remember what we talked about earlier, what this whole weekend is about?"
"Letting go of control. "
"Yes. But more importantly it's about trust. I have to keep reminding you of that.
