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And the whip still awaited her.
Chapter Four
The darkness brought by the blindfold sharpened her awareness of sounds and smells. The faded scent of peanut sauce vanished by degrees the farther she moved away from the kitchen and dining areas. The leather of the restraints Sean had used to bind her wrists behind her back creaked as she tried to adjust the position of her hands.
Sweat and musk colored Sean’s normally clean scent. The familiar aroma quieted the butterflies in her stomach. Whether freshly showered or slick from time spent doing physical activity, his unique scent never failed to make her feel safe and comfortable.
The density of the air increased as she descended the stairs that led to the dungeon. She didn’t know if her perception was colored by trepidation or if the air conditioning just didn’t circulate efficiently on the lower level. Being naked, she didn’t mind the slight increase in temperature brought by the higher humidity.
Through it all, Sean never left her side. He maintained his position behind her and a little to the left, his hand always somewhere on her body, his presence and innate strength lending support and courage. He wrapped his hand around her arm on the stairs to keep her from stumbling. His fingers tickled the small of her back as he guided her down various hallways.
Now he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Stop here.”
Strands of her bangs slid from beneath the blindfold. Sean pulled them out so they lay against her forehead. He fiddled with her hair, smoothing caresses along its thick length. Though he seemed to like the sloppy style she’d affected before, he didn’t ask her to put it up again. At last he slipped the blindfold, an overlarge sleeping mask, up to her forehead. Immediately she dropped her gaze.
With the curve of his finger, he urged her chin up. “Marcella, look at me.”
Apprehension made her need to swallow a few times as she obeyed his order.
“You don’t have to do this.”
Oh, yes she did. If she didn’t, he would find some other submissive to bring to a climax under the power of his whip. No matter what the cost, she would be what he needed. She didn’t want to do this, and lying outright to Sean was not acceptable, so she phrased her response carefully. “I want to please you, Master.”
His lips pursed, and she sensed a refusal lying just behind them.
“Please let me do this.”
Finally his head bobbed in a curt nod. “All right. Let’s use the stoplight system. You’re familiar with it?”
Bless him, but this wasn’t about control. Marcella had no problem ceding complete control to Sean. He had repeatedly earned her trust, and she craved his domination. Giving her this additional level of control made her fall for him even harder. “Yes, Master. Red means stop. Yellow means slow down. Green means everything is okay and keep going. It’s also consent.”
He smiled, his lips curling with satisfaction while firmness glittered from his hazel eyes. “Give me your color.”
She liked how he phrased it as an order. These details meant so much, and they went a long way toward soothing her nerves. “Green, Master.” With him, her color would always be green.
“Once we’re inside, I won’t touch you except to put the restraints on you. Fuller won’t touch you either. Nothing but the whip will be allowed to give you any pleasure.”
She noted that he didn’t sound pleased with that rule. When he’d talked about it before, he had always sounded like he looked forward to the challenge. Now he sounded a little miffed that he had to keep his hands off. She didn’t mind if he broke the rules, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to tell him that without sounding like she was topping from the bottom. She had too much respect for Sean to do something like that.
“Yes, Master. I understand.”
He eased the blindfold back into place and rearranged her bangs to fall over it. A soft breeze followed the soft click announcing he’d opened the door to the dungeon. Her nerves tingled with anticipation. Though she didn’t exactly look forward to the whipping, she looked forward to being bound and to the sex play that would happen afterward.
With a hand on her back, he guided her to the spanking bench. He moved his hand up her back to grasp her neck, and he pushed her down, bending her over the padded bench. A long bar no wider than a two-by-four supported her torso. The soft pad pressed between her breasts, which dangled down each side to hang free. This modified bench would let her master have access to her breasts and nipples.
A longer, wider beam supported her hips. The padding on the edge was a little thicker than anywhere else, and for that Marcella was grateful. Her hip bones could jab annoying bruises into her skin and rub it raw. The additional padding would prevent that from happening so quickly.
