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“I’ll bend, Maggie. Or at least I’ll try. Use a slow word if I don’t. Communicate with me. I need you to meet me halfway. Don’t make me guess what’s wrong when you have an issue with something I’ve requested.”
“That’s a tall order, Sir.”
“You told me earlier you’ve been on your own for years. You can do this.”
She sighed. “You’re right, Mr Tomlinson.”
They cleared the table together. She loaded the dishwasher while he put away the leftover salad.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her afterwards.
“A bit uncertain.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “We scened, fucked, ate.”
“Are you afraid I’ll make you snuggle up and watch racing or something like that on television?”
She laughed.
“I’ve got plenty more in store for you. You haven’t seen the basement yet.”
Her eyes widened.
“Open that door,” he told her. “And go on down. I’ll join you in a minute.” He grabbed a couple of bottles of water, wanting her to have time to explore the area on her own.
The area was finished, and it was large. He’d had the pool table removed and had taken out several walls for his exercise space. While he’d been at it, he’d asked Master Marcus to design some unobtrusive pieces that no one would consider kinky. Now that she was here, David was glad he’d had the foresight to do that. He looked forward to their mutual introduction to Master Marcus’ creation.
Earlier in the day, David had moved aside his workout machines and weight bench, leaving the area vacant for their use.
“I don’t get it,” she said when he came downstairs. “It’s a nice space, but…”
“It doesn’t look like a dungeon?”
“Not at all.”
“Pull that tapestry off the wall.”
She did. “Ah. Hmm.” She took a step back and studied the pieces of wood attached to the wall. “Interesting.” She placed the tapestry on the floor and rolled it up. “Sorry. I still don’t get it.”
“It serves the same purpose as a St Andrew’s cross.”
Maggie looked again, closer. “Oh! Clever.”
He thought so, too. The structure was about six feet in width and height. Holes were drilled at strategic intervals for placement of hooks, meaning a sub could be attached wherever the Dom desired. Even the individual slats could be removed or not, as David saw fit. Since it didn’t have an official name, he called it the Cavendish, in honour of its designer.
“Devious,” she added. “No one would ever know it’s down here.”
He opened the top of a bench—another of Marcus’ designs. The furniture had been installed beneath a window. Guests who opened it would find a blanket and a remote control for the television and sound system. The upper tray was removable, and his stash of toys was stored beneath.
“Your personality is like this room, isn’t it?” she observed. “You’d never expect what’s beneath the exterior.”
“I’m the same on the inside and the outside.”
“Uh-huh. Sorry, Mr Tomlinson. Not buying it. You are much deeper, more concerned about things and people—me—than you let on.”
“You have it wrong, Maggie. I assure you.”
“Whatever you say, Sir.”
He glanced at her.
“I’m agreeing with you, Mr Tomlinson.” She shrugged. “As always.”
“You’re incorrigible, Maggie.”
She flashed him a cheeky grin.
“Would you prefer I flog your back or front?” He nodded, selecting a flogger with broad straps so he could give her a long, sound beating.
Her smile faded, and she took in a sharp breath, not from fear, he sensed, but from unfurling anticipation.
She kept an eye on him as he shook it out. “Whatever Sir prefers,” she said.
This time, sincerity was etched in her words.
He laid the implement aside and took out hooks, clamps, ties, restraints, lube and even a medium-sized butt plug.
“I guess you weren’t kidding that we wouldn’t be watching television,” she said.
“Not a chance.”
