“Yes, Sir.”
He uncoiled the rope and dropped it into a messy pile in his lap. “When I tell you topray, I want you on your knees. Do it now.Pray.”
I slipped off the bench and moved to the floor. It was strangely thrilling to lower myself onto my knees in front of him.He nudged my legs with his shoe, adjusting my position. “Legs together. Back straight. Put your hands…” He took my hands and guided them up in a prayer position at my chest. “Like this. Head down. Eyes on the floor.”
I took the position, staring at the floor. The polished wood. His faded jeans. The scuff marks on his shoes. Those damn, worn shoes.
He started to wrap the rope around my wrists. He crisscrossed it down my forearms, forcing them together. I expected it to be itchy, but the material was soft and comfortable.
“When we play,” he said, “we’ll start every scene this way. Why do you think I’m tying you up?”
“To keep me from moving? So I don’t touch you? To remind me you’re in control?”
He shook his head. “This is a promise. From me to you. This is a promise to you that you can trust me. You don’t need your hands. My hands are yours. When I blindfold you, my eyes are yours. When I gag you, my voice is yours. I’m not taking from you. I’m giving to you. Whatever I am, for as long as we’re in this club, is yours. My body is in service to make sure you feel safe, protected, and satisfied. Do you understand that promise?”
“Yes.”
“Eyes, Ophelia.” I looked up, training my gaze on him. A small smile entered his expression. “Good girl.” Those two words. They sent a pleasure through me that was indescribable. He opened a zipper on his bag and removed a slim, black strip of fabric.
“I want to blindfold you. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Right. His rules. I found myself wanting badly to follow them. To be a good girl.
“Yes, Sir.”
He wrapped it around my eyes. The silk was soft on my skin, but he knotted it tightly behind my head, securing it in place. The world went dark, and without my sense of sight, the rest of my senses heightened. I zeroed in on the low, gruff sound of his voice. The sensation of those large fingers securing the knot at the back of my head. The way his leg knocked lightly into mine.
His hands left me. At first, I felt unanchored, empty and alone without my sight, but then his hand closed over my bare knee. His thumb gently, slowly rubbed over the skin and I felt tethered to the earth again by his touch. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer openly.”
I nodded in compliance. My throat went tight. I felt nervous…and excited. Like teasing the edge of a cliff.
“Is there any place you don’t want me to touch you?”
What I wanted to say was:I want your hands everywhere, on my body, gripping me, inside of me…
Instead, I shook my head. “No, Sir.”
“Are you okay with spanking?”
“Yes.”
“Slapping?”
“Not on the face, but…everywhere else, yes.”
He gave a sudden, sharp slap on my thigh. I gasped. It wasn’t hard, but surprising, and it left a warm, stinging sensation in its wake.
“How was that?”
“Good. I can take more, Sir.”
“I’m going to start training you on your words. You’ll hear me sayGive. Right now, you don’t have to do anything when I say the word. I’m just putting it in your ear.”
“Okay.”
