AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"You won't speak unless I command it. "
When he was facing her, she flipped the switch that stopped the movement of the platform. Then she moved along the outer crescent to the items she'd had left for her. A downshielded dim light showed her a five-foot-long latigo braided Mexican whip with wooden handle which she used frequently and a tool she used on her more hardheaded subs such as Marius. A thirty-inch-long Scottish tawser that she'd customized. Tawsers were originally used for punishment of schoolchildren, to strike their hands. The tool typically was one or two straps of leather put together and toasted over a fire to make it more rigid. For modern-day BDSM play, they were more flexible and she'd had a trio of cuts made along the length of the strap to increase the sting and maneuverability. It was a highly effective punishment tool, used when the sub's endorphins were rushing high and he needed that ultimate pain experience to push him to orgasm.
Still not speaking, she unfastened her cloak and hung it up, picked up the whip.
Swung it, re-accustomed herself to its weight and balance. Stepped into the spotlight with him.
Letting her gaze travel from low to high, she started with his bare feet. The manacles fit snugly around his ankles. She'd requested steel because she wanted the discomfort factor on his bones. Not excruciating for a couple hours but they'd leave red marks when removed. The manacles on his arms were the same, so movement was attended by the clanking reminder of imprisonment. Then she moved on to the calves, knees, long muscular thighs, the cock that had been semi-erect when she entered and was now fully erect. Lower abdomen, broad chest, smooth shoulders. The scars that altered him here or there, the tension in his neck that suggested her biceps adjustment had resulted in the discomfort she'd intended. The firm mouth beneath the blindfold's cover. That fine, dark hair. Aristocratic nose. Clean, trimmed fingernails.
She took her time, standing there for some minutes, just looking at every part of him, enjoying the ability to do so without interruption or interference. She'd had subs that she'd made stand with their eyes downcast while she sat a few feet away, enjoying the visual feast of them, watching them get more and more aroused as her silent regard stimulated them.
The purpose of her sessions was as she had described it to Tim. The attempt to compel stillness in a world that was never still, by achieving a connection with another that went beyond words and noise. But if she took Tyler into that still moment, would she find such contentment that she'd never crave motion again?
She stepped forward, one step, two steps. In a smooth motion she arced the latigo whip, struck his thigh, just below and to the left of the scrotum, exactly where she'd intended it to fall.
He hadn't anticipated that as her first move. She could tell by his start, the flex of his fingers against the manacles. She moved closer, past him, dragging her fingernails across his leg, over the reddened skin, letting the trail of the whip follow and tease his testicles. She stopped, her gaze level with his outstretched arm, her eyes and mouth inches from the smooth, muscular skin. All hers. Offered to her freely.
"When I speak to you, you will answer 'Yes, Mistress'. " Her breath moved the fine hair on his arm.
She flicked her glance right, watched his jaw muscle flex, his head tilt toward her.
"Yes, Mistress. "
She made a precise left turn, walked the length of his arm, circled it. Coming back to stand behind him, she went to work.
First the whip. Across the back several times, different spots. Shoulder blades, lower back, buttocks, striking with the braided thong. Then she stepped back further and used the trail, the single string at the tip, to sting. Then alternating.
He remained silent, his breath coming out of him in short bursts as he managed the pain. She did not speak either, letting the pain she was inflicting be her words to him.
Pain and sensory deprivation together were powerful focus tools. She wanted him mindless, as mindless as she'd been. On a pause, he angled his head, showing he was trying to relieve some of the tension she had created between his neck and shoulders.
Moving forward again, she stopped right behind him, the curve of his firm ass against her hip, the tip of her breast pressed to his marked back.
"Christ, touch me," he murmured. Raw. Not begging. Demanding.
Her hand hovered over his flesh as she fought the compulsion to obey. At length, she laid her fingers on him as lightly as a moth landing, at that aching juncture of his neck, feeling the knotted muscle. Not to caress but to determine the status of his discomfort. She reached up, made the adjustment to the restraint, eased it out a half inch, giving him a bit of relief.
"I control your comfort as well as your pain. " She noted his cock jumped at the sound of her voice, reacting as if the smooth slick velvet of her cunt had closed over him.
"I don't doubt that at all. Not since I met you. " She slid under his arm, her hair brushing his sensitized skin. Her hand pressed briefly at his side.
As she stood before him, Tyler felt her breath near his chin, telling him she was within kissing distance, but when he stretched out, tentative, she was gone again, a frustrating illusion. No. A fantasy come to life, teasing him.
Just like a covert operation, he knew the goal going in, had prepared himself for it to the maximum extent possible, knowing there would be unforeseen contingencies.
She'd been an obsession before their partial weekend together but now that he'd touched her, tasted her, left his scent on her, he hadn't counted on how being this close to her but unable to touch her would goad the alpha in him. It took concentrated effort not to use his full strength against the chains in a futile attempt to burst loose. And as if she knew that, she stayed just out of reach, a distance calculated to madden him.
She moved behind him again and those long nails, the slim fingers, went to his neck, playing in the hair at his nape, but only to release the blindfold. It tumbled from him, the black silk rolling down, spreading out and floating to the floor. Her palm followed the length of his right arm, the top of it, caressing the muscles of his biceps, his forearm. When she reached his hand, she drew awa
y, avoiding the intimacy of fingers touching fingers. Then she stepped around and in front of him, increasing his torture by showing herself to him at last.
The dress she wore was her signature white. No diamonds tonight. It was long-sleeved, high-necked and fit like a second skin, but not like the bodysuit which was seductively tight. This dress molded every portion of her anatomy. The size and shape of her breasts, the bud of the nipple, even the slight uneven transition between the areola and the smooth curve of the breast itself. The stretch fabric outlined her hips, her buttocks. Her legs, bare, smooth, long and fine as a deer's, were tucked into white stilettos with a sharp toe reinforced with silver.
It took him some time to reach her face. She wore no makeup. No adornment whatsoever. Just the dress which quite obviously had nothing under it. With her clear blue eyes and that moonlit hair, what else did she need?
He wanted nothing more than to worship and cherish every part of her body. In that he was sure he was little different from the submissives who had shared this room with her. But he wondered if they noticed other things about her. The fact she so rarely smiled. That there were often shadows under her eyes. How thin her arms were, despite the lean muscle tone. The fragile slenderness of her neck, her wrists, her ankles.
Everything he'd observed of her suggested that she lived the life of an ascetic. Very restrained, very controlled. Turning denial into an art form.
