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"Nice. But I want something more."
She moved closer to him, her heeled boots making a click-click noise on the floor. Clasping the waistband of his tight shorts, she took them down with a sharp yank. She tucked them under his buttocks, leaving them only half off in front, his stiffening cock snagged in them. The pull on the elastic framed and lifted his ass, making him feel like a kid having his pants pulled down in front of the class.
She stepped back and struck again. This time she focused on his butt, hitting it in a repetitive, circular motion that built intensity fast, making him twitch under the blows. It wasn't unbearable pain; just a lot of sensation, and it seemed like every blow came with a message that drew a net tighter around him, making the audience disappear, everything disappear. He didn't let himself get lost this quick with anyone. Hell, he didn't do the getting lost thing at all.
She stepped closer again, and tucked the flogger between his legs, between flesh and shorts. He pulled in a breath as she wrapped her hand in the fall and yanked the straps taut against his balls, the handle imprinted against his ass along with the knuckles of her grip. Her forearm pressed against his side.
"Feeling safe, sweet boy?" she said, a husky whisper. Her breasts, clad in a thin, silky tee, rubbed against his back. He quivered.
That need kept rising. He suspected she could feel it, too, like he was a fish caught on a hook. Her hand was on the line, sensing the tension as she slowly pulled him in the direction that, unlike the fish, he desperately wanted to go.
"Yeah," he managed to mumble. Didn't even remember to say "Yes, Mistress," and he never forgot that.
She stepped back, pulling the flogger free, and went after him again. Sides, ass, back, shoulders, thighs. He was moving with her, like dancing, his cock hard, belly tight, and all his nerve endings reaching for her. Lips parted, breath whistling in and out.
He had no wings to fly like this, but she'd taken away his panic. He wasn't thinking about any of the things that had dr
iven him here for refuge tonight, that had been stalking his mind these past few weeks, waiting for the other shoe to drop in his real life. She really was making him feel safe. Then she did something even worse than that.
He inhaled deep when she stepped close this time, and took in honeysuckle, a haunting fragrance that held him fast on a pin-sized point of nowhere-the-fuck-to-go-but-here. Putting her palm on the juncture between throat and shoulder, she simply stood there, connected to him.
"Breathe."
So he breathed. In darkness, with her touching him, with one firm, warm, substantial palm. The rush of feeling in his head muffled the sounds of the club, the way noise was muted when standing in the surf of an ocean. But each breath took him even farther out in the waters. Floating.
She was in those waters, diving deep into him without doing anything exceptional. No, that wasn't true. She picked up on what he needed at the right moment and pulled even more from him, keeping him unbalanced. It took Doms and subs a long time to get that point, even when they were open to one another. They were virtual strangers, and he didn't open up to anyone. Yet her timing with him was a hammer hitting a nail dead on with every stroke and touch.
He wanted to let go, feel more with her. But...he didn't want her to stop watching him. If he let himself go enough to get lost in this, treat it as something real, bad things would happen. Then she'd stop watching him.
It was pathetically ironic, what she'd said to him about a safe word. The way she watched him made him feel safe. Not safe like he was some chickenshit who needed protection. Different kind of safe. Safe from the things inside himself. The things he was powerless to change. For months, he'd known a train was coming. His phone might be in his locker, but that wouldn't stop the message from coming. The train was almost here, but he couldn't get off the track.
She made him believe he could close his eyes, get lost in the bliss and never feel the impact obliterate him. And he shouldn't, couldn't do that.
"We need to stop," he said.
"Had enough?" she said in a neutral tone.
He nodded.
A long pause, as if she wasn't that willing to let this end. But it was a demo. She wasn't going to push things. She raised her voice. "Say you'll never put your feet on the walls again."
"I'll never put my feet on the walls again." If he was being his normal self, he would have added a teasing caveat to win himself a few more stripes. She must have realized it, because she waited an extra beat before she made a noncommittal noise and freed his ankles. Before she released his wrists, she rubbed his back gently with firm hands, making sure he was grounded. He didn't need that, didn't need that kind of aftercare, so he twitched enough to let her know, to make her stop. He didn't want her to stop.
When she took off one wrist cuff, he removed the blindfold himself. The first thing he saw were her eyes, dark pools. He'd never let himself look too deeply into them. Maybe because he could fall and be lost.
She braced a hand on his shoulder, rising onto her toes to release the other cuff. When she did, he found himself laying his cheek on her knuckles. Just putting his head down a second. Not really sure why.
He closed his eyes as she rested her hand on his head. It felt like all the things he would never have. Absolution, redemption, tenderness. A Mistress. Fortunately, he regained his senses and drew away. He stepped off the cross, avoiding further touch, and reached for whatever defenses that were still in reach of his grasping fingertips.
"Thank you, Mistress," he said in a raised voice, giving her a playful grin and turning away. He pulled up his shorts and rubbed his ass, making the cute sub girls giggled.
Regina watched him with those knowing eyes, and without smiling. She wasn't pissed. Just too aware. He added a respectful nod, conveying more serious thanks. When he did that, she nodded in return. His eyes lingered on her glossed lips, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. The cocked hip stance, her meditative look. That was all he could have. He walked away.
As he made his escape, he saw Noah sitting against the wall in an unoccupied part of the play room, a good vantage point to watch several of the stations at once. Marius snagged a towel and a bottled water before sliding down to sit next to him. Everything in his back, ass and thighs was tingling. Everywhere she'd struck or touched.
He didn't say anything right off. Just ran the towel over his damp neck and chest. Noah had his head tipped back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes half closed. The lean man with long dark hair wore nothing but a pair of jeans and his tattoos. He'd been with Mistress Lyda for some time, long enough for their relationship to be considered a serious thing, but he never said anything about that. He had something to say about other things, though.
"That was some intense shit."
