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“Isn’t all this open flame a fire safety violation?” she asked, the mundane question the only thing she could think of to say in response to the bizarre setting.
“They’re not real candles or torches. The candles are a flickering bulb designed to simulate candlelight. And the torches are just orange satin, blown by a fan.”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw his gloved hand resting beside the doorway, where a light switch would normally be. Where a light switch no doubt actually was, camouflaged by paint, to control the candles and torches.
She nodded, allowing her eyes to focus on the contents of the room. Black padded benches in different heights, with triangular leather pillow wedges, occupied much of the floor space. A wrought iron wine table had been repurposed to hold a collection of floggers instead of stemware and paddles instead of wine bottles, with two black woven baskets hiding their contents from view inside the base cupboard of the unit. And a number of heavy eyebolts had been screwed into the wall and ceiling. Some had chains dangling from them, while others were bare.
“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” she whispered.
“To a time when a man was truly the lord of his castle, and had the power to enforce his desires?”
She nodded, her legs beginning to tremble. “You said you were interested in scene play. What scenes play out in here?”
He stepped up behind her, hands wrapping loosely around her waist to pull her against him. His masked cheek rested against her hair.
“What scenes would you like to play?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I’d only ever done a little bondage before. And that was straightforward, let’s-tie-you-to-the-bedposts sex.”
“Then perhaps you are a lovely Victorian maid, innocently sailing to Spain, when your ship is attacked by pirates. The pirate captain is captivated by your beauty.” Rikard reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of one gloved finger. “And so, rather than killing you, he takes you back to his hideout. He will spare your life, if you can convince him that it is worth his while to keep you as a slave. A slave to service all of his sexual needs.”
She shivered, leaning against Rikard’s warmth. In his black mask, laced leather pants and poet shirt, he looked like a pirate. Her imagination ran wild, inspired by his words, until she smelled the cordite, and squinted against the fog of gunsmoke that blurred her vision. Distantly, she heard the cries of men fighting and dying.
“And if I am unable to convince you, Captain?”
“Then I will give you to my men. They deserve a treat.” He trailed his finger between her breasts, down to her pussy. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t survive the experience.”
Fear flushed her body, even though she knew Rikard was not a pirate, that there was no crew waiting to ravish her to death if she failed to satisfy him. Her heart pounded, and her palms sweated, as if the scene he’d described was real.
He stroked her cheek again, turning her face so that he could read her expression.
“So, my sweet pirate prize. Do you want to play?”
“Yes, Master Rikard. I want to play.”
“Pirate booty does not wear clothing. Take it off.”
He released her, stepping back so that he was out of her way. Qui
ckly, Gayle pulled off the clinging top, then unzipped the leather skirt and stepped out of it. She dropped her clothing to the floor, and stood naked before Rikard.
His blue eyes gleamed within his mask as he approached her. Softly, slowly, he reached out and glided his gloved fingers over her shoulders, down her arms, around her breasts, across her nipples, down her stomach, over her hips, and around her ass. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and sighed with pleasure.
Something warm and wet touched her shoulder, and her eyes flew open. Rikard was kissing her, with a gentle openmouthed kiss that was barely firmer than a breath. He licked her shoulder, then traced the line of her muscles and vein with his tongue, placing another soft kiss in the hollow of her neck.
“From now until the end of the scene, you will address me as Captain. If you need to stop the scene for any reason, refer to me as Master Rikard.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“The first thing I must do is make sure you can’t jump ship and try to swim to safety.” He opened the wine cabinet and dug in one of the baskets. Triumphantly, he turned to her holding a pair of black leather wrist restraints and a rough length of hemp rope.
“Turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
Quivering, Gayle did as he instructed. She was giving him her trust and belief in addition to her obedience. With her hands bound behind her, she’d be unable to fight him off if he decided to try something she didn’t want him to do. But she had no doubt that she could stop him with a word.
Getting into the game, she pleaded, “Please, Captain. Don’t tie me up. I promise I’ll do everything you ask. Everything.”
He chuckled. “Saucy wench.”
