Page 18 of Just Past Two

“I don’t know, maybe.” She shrugged. “But I was thinking more like…control. Like you tell me what to do and I have to obey you.”

“I don’t want to tell you do to stuff you don’t want to do.”

“No, not like that.” She sighed. On the next couch over, a couple started undressing enthusiastically, mid make out, clothing pieces scattering everywhere. Abby gestured toward the door. “Can we go into the regular lounge?”

The regular lounge, with its street-legal clothing requirements and soft jazz, was a sensory reprieve after the thumping music of the bar. They found a corner with a soft leather sofa and sank into it together. Abby was still nursing her drink, and she took another sip before starting her explanation again, this time much quieter to suit the ambiance. “I wouldn’t do stuff I wouldn’t want to do. But it’s kind of hot to be vulnerable, like we talked about before.” She set her glass aside on an end table and twined her fingers together in her lap, shifting with nervous energy. “My fantasy is that you would be my Dom, for a little bit. You tell me what to do and I obey. I could always use a safe word, like ‘red’ or something, and we’d stop. It’s just that sometimes I think about not being in control.”

In the golden light of this room, her blush was much more prominent, the deep red of shyness indicating that yeah, this was her real fantasy.

He’d never given much thought to this kind of thing. BDSM was something other people did, people with leather and whips, who were really into pain. He wasn’t really into pain, giving or receiving. Seeing Abby hurt would be a huge turnoff. And telling her what to do? What if she hated the idea of it? She’d said she could use a safe word, but even so, he’d have to take charge on everything. He would need to be firm with her, to tell her things and make her obey.

If he’d been in that room with her tonight, he could have been telling her what to do, commanding her to touch herself in a certain way. She would have obeyed him, yielding her pleasure to his wishes, trusting him to take care of her.

His cock twitched, just a bit, blood rushing into his too-sensitive shaft.

Oh.

“Okay.”

Abby raised one eyebrow. “Okay? You’ll do it?”

“Yes.” He’d have to do some research, for sure, figure out more about this BDSM thing and what Abby might like. “But if you want to try this with me in the future, I think we should go to the dungeon now and watch.”

Abby blinked, mouth open, and then picked up her drink and downed the rest of it in one gulp. She shivered, from the alcohol or from nerves, he couldn’t be sure. “All right. Let’s go.”

The dungeon, ironically set up on the top floor instead of in the basement, had a posted list of rules next to the staircase that resembled the rules from the hostess, but more complete. There were additional regulations about medical play, needles, blood, stuff he didn’t even want to contemplate because it was so far outside of his interests. But this baseline idea of commanding her and making her obey, he could do that. While they were in a building with an actual dungeon, they’d be foolish not to check it out.

The staircase opened up directly into an open loft space lit with dim red lighting, music steadily pumping through the space. The room was filled with furniture, different structures Sam didn’t recognize but whose use was pretty obvious. A bench near them sat empty, and he stepped closer. The workmanship was solid, carved hardwood frame and smooth leather padding, metal eyelets for attaching cuffs.

Behind him, Abby started laughing, making him turn. “Did you seriously just examine the furniture before you noticed the naked people?”

Right, naked people. More than half the structures were occupied, a lot of action taking place all around them, and he’d checked out the bench. He had to laugh at himself. “I’m into design. I can’t help it.” He took her hand and pulled her over to an empty couch. “Come on. Let’s sit and watch.”

Most of the action in this room was impact related: moaning people were being hit with a variety of objects: hands, paddles, crops, other things he didn’t know the names of. Most were bound. Off to one side, a woman was tying up her female partner in an elaborate rope harness, preparing to suspend her from a giant wooden frame. Sam’s attention gravitated toward the neatness of her rope work, the smooth motions of her hands as she wove cord into knots.

“Is this something you’ve done before?” he asked. “Your other partners ever tie you up or spank you?”

“Not really.” She shifted, leaning against him. Her whole demeanor was more relaxed than he’d expected, being surrounded by this kind of ambiance. “I had a boyfriend who’d spank my ass a little bit during sex, but it wasn’t this kind of thing.”

“So why do you think you’d like it?”

Abby paused, watching a couple over in the corner. She was tied to a large upright wooden X on the wall, blindfolded, her nipples weighted with painful-looking clamps. Her partner held a vibrator up between her legs, pressed against her, and her pleading became loud enough to hear as they watched.

“Please, Sir, please let me come,” she sobbed, crying and twisting.

“No.” He pulled the vibrator away, and she sagged in her bonds, her cries pitiful. After a moment, he pressed the toy against her once more.

She ratcheted quickly to the edge again, muscles tensing, back arching, and her thighs began to quiver. “Please,” she begged once more. “Please let me come.”

He pulled the vibrator away again. “No.”

Next to him, Abby had gone very still. She watched with a kind of hypnotized expression, transfixed by the scene, and every muscle in her body was as tense as if she were the one experiencing this kind of torture. It was like she’d forgotten that he’d asked her a question. Maybe she’d forgotten he was even here. The man with the vibrator tortured the woman over and over, denying her five more times before she was a whimpering, incoherent mess. Then he took the toy away and began to stroke her with his fingers, light touches that also had her soon sobbing and writhing.

“What would you do to come?” he asked, loud enough for the room to hear.

“Anything,” she begged, thrusting into his hand.

“When do you get to come?”