Page 54 of Pierced

But I’ve never been in control of him like this. He didn’t have to take my advice, he just did it. And I wasn’t barking orders at him, I was simply giving suggestions.

We were partners. We were a team of two.

And we don’t feel like partners anymore.

I turn away and stare at the wall.

“Myrtle?” he asks. “You… OK?”

I don’t think I can do this.

I don’t think I should do this.

“Mistress?” he says.

It’s not that I feel rusty or somehow incapable. I’m quite capable of making him submit. It’s just… I don’t think it’s going to make me feel better. I don’t think, that when this is all over, I’m going to feel better about things.

I think I’m going to feel worse.

I spin on my heel and open my mouth to tell him to get dressed and leave, but he’s looking at me. Nodding his head. Just a little nod. Very slight. But it’s definitely a nod.

Is he reassuring me?

I spy the bottle of wine I was drinking earlier. I thought it would be enough, but it wasn’t. It’s forbidden to get drunk in a dungeon. It’s just… not done. But I had a long afternoon. I spent hours getting everything ready. I needed a little extra courage and now I know why.

I shouldn’t be doing this… but I am.

I walk over to the bottle, pour myself half glass, and drink it down. The warmth fills my stomach and radiates outward. I pour another half a glass and do it again.

What could he possibly be thinking right now?

And then I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking, She’s gonna give up. She’s gonna give in. She’s gonna let me out of this stupid game and—

“Lie down on the bed,” I say, turning to face him again.

He steps forward, hesitantly, at first. But then I grab the chain attached to the collar he has on and tug at it. He walks over to the bed. I circle around him, still holding his leash, and allow him to slide onto the bed and lie back.

I stare at him. At his cock, lying across his stomach. Fully hard.

He’s turned on. He’s waiting for me to do something. He wants this.

“Now turn over and spreadeagle.”

He hesitates. I yank on his leash. And then he turns over, lifts his arms up, hands stretching outward toward the bedposts, and then spreads his legs.

The wine is hitting me. I feel loose now. Ready to begin.

So I drop the leash, walk over to the bed, and begin restraining him. I tie the long silver satin ribbons around his ankles like I’m securing a ballet shoe. Making sure they lie flat, that there are no wrinkles, and that they’re tight enough to let him know he can’t move, but not tight enough to cut off his circulation.

I do the same to his wrists. I don’t look at him, even when I’m on the side of the bed he’s facing. I just concentrate on my job.

When I’m sure he’s tied down properly, I walk over to one of the candelabras, pluck out a candle out, and walk back over to the bed.

“I’m going to show you how pain is pleasure.”

He sucks in a long breath of air, eyes on my candle.

Then I climb onto the bed, position myself between his legs, and watch his face carefully as I tilt the candle until the hot wax drips down the inside of his thigh.