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She raised her attention to his face. He jiggled the box, letting the contents clink and clack together. He watched as she lowered her gaze to his hand. She squinted, probably trying to make out either the image or words on the side of the box.
Benson knew the moment she figured out what he held, because her eyes went wide, and she sucked in a breath.
“Time to begin.” Benson opened the box of binder clips.
CHAPTER 10
Mal choked back the insane urge to laugh. The flimsy little cardboard box, with the bright red and white logo, was wildly incongruous with the decadent, dark surroundings.
She searched Benson’s features, wondering if this was a joke. Maybe he was teasing her and would reveal the actual plan in a moment.
Then he began attaching binder clips to the bottom edge of his vest. There were a variety of sizes, and she could just barely make out the word “assorted” on the box.
Unlike their container, the shiny black and silver office supplies looked sinister.
This wasn’t a joke.
She watched him take two particularly massive clips—large enough that they could have held together most of a ream of paper—and work them open and closed.
Clips and clamps designed as sex toys were carefully and rigorously tested. These weren’t. These would pinch hard, metal digging mercilessly into flesh.
Back in college and grad school, binder clips and pens with hard to remove caps had served as her fidget toys when studying or thinking. Now her desk was littered with actual manipulatives, many of which were award-winning in the ingenuity of their design.
But as she watched Benson, Mal had a visceral memory of exactly what it felt like to take a binder clip and use it on the fleshy part of her fingers or the edge of her palm.
“Breathe, Mal. You’re holding your breath.”
She exhaled, focused on her breathing.
“Where are you? What color?”
“Green… Yellow? No. Green, Master Benson. But I’m worried.”
“Why are you worried?” He asked the question without looking at her. His focus was on the box, which he carefully closed and then tucked out of sight.
“Those aren’t… They aren’t meant to be used on people.”
“True, they aren’t.”
He looked at her, his face shadowed, his expression unreadable.
She realized she’d forgotten to say ‘Master Benson’ with that last comment. Was he going to call her out on it? He shouldn’t… They were having a very serious conversation about her concerns. Still…
“I’m sorry. I forgot to mind my manners a moment ago, Master Benson.”
“You called yellow. I don’t give two fucks about you tacking my name onto sentences when we’re talking about something serious.”
And that right there was one reason Benson always had been, and perhaps always would be, her favorite scene partner. They thought the same way, considered the same things important.
“Are you thinking,” he went on, “that there are a thousand different clamps and clips that I could have chosen from, but I went for office supplies?”
“Respectfully, yes, Master Benson.”
“Do you remember what I said a minute ago? About pain and humiliation?”
Mal’s stomach twisted. “Yes, Master Benson.”
“Say it. I want to hear it in your own words.”
