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The School of Sin, had been suggested by Miles, and the name was growing on her, but she still wasn’t sure. Did it even need a name? Well, yes. She was all for mystery, but she could hardly promote a nameless business.
She’d already realised an overhead she hadn’t considered, which was something Master Devon resolved easily. Certain toys were not reusable, so their use in a scene made them a waste product. Devon suggested adding a consumable charge and allowing the client to take them home.
There had been some legal hoops, for if a client wished to bring their own items into a scene, resolved by wavers and such. Legal contracts had been drawn up to ensure the use of cameras etc was prohibited without signed consent for use in private scenes and, if a client wanted professional photos, thanks to Penny, there was an in-house service available for erotic artwork so long as they were given notice at the time of booking. There had also been the need for security, panic buttons, etc, while she hoped no one in the school would ever need them, even the best vetting process fell shy sometimes. You could never control who walked through the doors.
She hadn’t realised how many additional measures a place like this would need, but with the interest that had already been shown, and how quickly the workshops were filling up, she had no doubt the overhead would be met, breaking even would take a lot longer. High-quality equipment was expensive.
The property she found was an old mansion on a large plot of private land, which had allowed her to get planning permission for private cabins. At first, her idea had been to have them as sleeping quarters for the guests, but her ideas soon evolved into kink-themed rooms, where, if they wanted, their clients would have everything they needed at their fingertips without having to visit the main rooms of the centre.
Her simple idea had taken on a life of its own. The school stood proudly in the centre of everything, with the east wing holding the workshop classrooms, the south wing had been designed to hold events, and the west wing had been segregated into private, themed rooms, like the one she and Miles found themselves in now. The idea was there would be something to accommodate everyone’s tastes and fantasies, from classroom set-ups to elevators, this place had a setting for most kinks. There were also Voyeur options, with the consent of the parties in scene.
This building had the tools to make almost every fantasy come to life, and she swelled with pride knowing that this academy would be a place that was safe, educational, and fun.
She had run through so many mental checklists and what-if scenarios, that now the only thing that could go wrong, was everything she hadn’t considered, and she had been wracking her brain trying to discover what they could be.
Which was one of the reasons she’d found herself in her current predicament. Helpless, unable to see or hear.
She’d been working herself into a panic, checking and rechecking everything. When she hadn’t arrived home at the time she’d said, Miles had come for her. To her shame, he’d caught her checking wooden surfaces for splinters. No word of a lie, she’d been found on her hands and knees, running her hands over every wooden surface, her face screwed up waiting for that fatal stab.
She wasn’t even sure why she’d suddenly had an image of the beautifully smooth, treated wood impaling someone, someone with a severe wood allergy, who then swelled up like a balloon, and somehow returned from the brink of death with an army of lawyers and sued her for everything she had. In a moment of weakness, she’d decided to check the floors and furniture, just in case there was an errant shard.
Miles had sneaked up on her, wrapping his arms around her in a loving hug before plunging her world into darkness, buckling a padded blindfold around her eyes, and whisking her away to one of the rooms.
He’d whispered in her ear about all the things he would do to her as punishment for being late, and he’d delivered her spanking as she squirmed across his lap, pleading for forgiveness.
Once he was done, and her ass was aflame, he’d returned her sight long enough to make her strip slowly as he watched, knowing, even now, the intensity of his stare caused her to blush. As soon as the black lace panties touched the floor, he was on his feet, stalking toward her like a predator. He plunged her world into silence, using earbuds and a white noise app to drown out any external sound.
It worked terrifyingly well, as she’d discovered, hiding his voice, even the deep vibration of her toys.
The smooth surface of the PVC mattress cover stuck against her back as she lay still, compliant as her master stretched her arms above her head, securing them in cuffs to the four-poster king-size bed, before pulling her down, forcing her arms straight.
God, how she loved being secured like this. After everything she’d been through, feeling helpless should be petrifying, but it had always been a kink of hers, and being so vulnerable, at Miles’ disposal, gave her a thrill like none other. One that caused her body to burn.
The bed he’d secured her to was a work of art. A custom design, fitted with multiple bondage points, with an option of chain or rope and a selection of shackles, to achieve the desired effect.
Beneath the bed was a cage.
At first, that thought had caused Ivy’s stomach to contort with dread, rekindling memories of her time with Perry, of that tiny cage he’d kept her in. But her experience didn’t mean it wouldn’t be something others could enjoy. Quite the opposite, in fact. She knew many people who loved the idea of being kept under their master’s or mistress’s bed.
She knew Miles would never place her inside. Like all BDSM relationships, their limits had grown and changed as they explored each other’s desires.
His fingertips skimmed her skin, causing shivers and goose bumps to rise in their wake.The warmth of the climate control brushed against her skin, heating the cool room. She was grateful, as always, for his consideration, often finding her body heat flooded from her, leaving her shivering in more than just anticipation.
Miles’ cold lips trailed freezing kisses down her neck, causing her skin to shiver, the cool bite of, what she assumed to be ice, held within his mouth chilling her flesh.
His fingers caressed her skin with feather-light motions, anticipation of his next touch added kindling to the flames of need he always stoked within her. Her wrists tugged at the cuffs as she squirmed, trying to seek out the pressure he had withdrawn.
Seconds later he was back. Cool liquid lined his fingers, massaging her pebbled nipples. Teasing moans of pleasure from her lips with soft sighs as her body welcomed him, eagerly responding to everything he offered.
It was only as his touch withdrew she realised the cold tingling sensation of his touch lingered, growing more intense with each passing moment. His fingers returned, tracing between her legs, adding heat to the dampness that, in contrast to the chilled sensation of her nipples, burned and heated in the most delightful of ways. Her body was alive, thrumming with need and energy as she tried to seek out his next touch, predict through her world void of sound and sight, what would come next. Her tongue moistened her lips, her breathing shallow as she waited in anticipation, yearning.
His breath chased goose pimples across her flesh, his fingers stimulating and teasing with each gentle touch or stroke as he traced her sensitive breasts, and followed the contours of her curves. She writhed beneath him, her body burning and pulsing as his fingers strayed everywhere, across every sensitive spot, but for those she longed for him to touch. Those he avoided with expert precision like the tease he was.
Ice from his fingertips drew damp, frigid circles around her nipples, forcing them to harden, almost to the point of pain as the gel he’d rubbed into them worked its magic, driving her sensitivity to new heights.
The heating gel between her legs caused her clit to burn and pulse, driving it to ache while coldness assailed her in carefully calculated movements. She writhed and squirmed, was aware of every whimper and whine as her body and soul begged for release.
The gift of the climate control touch became torture, its air whispering over her sensitive flesh, drawing out delightfully sensual sensations. Her body was alive, alight with pleasure, and more stimulation than her mind could comprehend exploded everywhere. Not a part of her felt neglected, her skin cooled and burned as her sweat caused her to stick to the sheet below, muscles aching from the restraint, the way she pulled and arched seeking more. Feathers, chills, rough and smooth, anything and everything driving her to the brink.
