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“It feels like I have a wedgie,” she remarks.
“Be grateful it’s not a crotch rope with knots for your clit, cunt and asshole.”
The thought seems to silence further complaint. She puts the heels on next.
I walk around her, surveying the awesome sight. The heels make her butt protrude, and the triangle of lace between the swell of her buttocks makes for the perfect accent
I rub my chin. “Needs one more thing.”
I go back into the bedroom and return with a collar and leash.
Her face falls. “Really?”
I clasp the collar around her neck.
“If anyone sees me like this—” she starts.
I smack her sharply over a breast. “Don’t threaten your master or I’ll make you crawl on all fours down to the club.”
With her feminist leaning, she probably finds pet play degrading. Olga loved it. She liked pairing a collar and leash with a fluffy tail plugged into her ass.
“It’s not fair that you get to make all the threats,” Bridget remarks.
“It was your idea to stay over.”
“I guess no good deed goes unpunished.”
“You just learning that?”
She scowls at me. She has no idea how naïve she is. A part of me wants her to stay that way, to never have to make the choices I’ve had to, like agreeing to the murder of an old friend.
“Let’s go,” I say, wanting a change of scenery before my thoughts go further in that direction. Taking the leash, I walk her out into the hallway and to the elevator.
“Are you sure no one’s going to be downstairs?” she asks when we step in.
“I can’t guarantee it,” I answer. “There’s a small chance Cheryl or Marshall may come in. Or maybe someone in the kitchen will want to do some prep ahead of the club’s opening tomorrow.”
She frowns. To take her mind off the prospect, I take the remote to the vibrator and turn it on. She gasps, then groans.
She stumbles out of the elevator either because of the vibrator or the platform heels or both. We walk through the club to the BDSM side. She lucks out. We don’t come across anyone. I imagine walking Bridget through the club when it’s packed with patrons. Maybe I’ll do that if she ever misbehaves big time.
The pommel is located in an austere room with other, more intimidating furnishings, like grappling hooks for suspension bondage, cages of different shapes and sizes, a chair with spikes, stocks, and a wooden horse.
“You use all…this?” she asks, eying everything with some trepidation.
“I have.”
I walk her over to the pommel and bend her over it. To secure her in place, I lock her wrists and ankles to shackles anchored to the platform below. I turn the vibrator up a notch before getting the tawse.
“Ooooh, can I come?” she asks.
“Not yet.”
I warm up her ass with kisses, groping and light slaps of the tawse.
“Remember the safe word?” I ask.
“Yes.”
