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The anxiety increases in her blues. Her pouty red lips part to speak, but she shuts them and swallows hard. Then she states, "I'm trying, Sir."
I place my hand on her cheek, tracing her lips with my thumb, happy she added her Sir. Maybe we are getting somewhere. I reply, "Don't try. Fully trust me."
"I do," she claims. Then adds, "Sir." She glances at my lips, then locks her gaze on my eyes. Then she glances at my mouth again.
My chest tightens. She's a temptress, even if she doesn't know it. Her constant desire to kiss me never wavers. I don't normally care to kiss any of my subs. But Blakley... I take a few deep breaths, trying to strengthen my resolve to avoid her mouth.
She gives me another silent, desperate plea and moves her face closer to mine, but I step back. I wind the leash around my fist a few times and order, "Time for your punishment, pet. Do not look at anyone as we move through the club."
Anxiety flares across her expression, mixing with defiance. I pin my most challenging gaze on her. She internally fights her desire to defy me. It's so obvious, my cock twitches.
"What's it going to be, pet? Rule fourteen or submission?" I taunt.
She takes a deep breath and asserts, "I'm going home with you, Sir."
Her answer couldn't be more perfect. I praise, "Good girl." I slide my hand around her waist, tighten the leash in my other, and command, "Lower your head."
She obeys, strolling next to me, but her defiance is still there. It burns through her veins. I'm sure of it. I've known her forever, and maybe it's what is making this more impactful for me.
I steer her through the club, knowing all eyes are on us. They usually are, as the board often puts me in positions to teach the other Doms. But tonight is different. Blakely is different. She stands out as more innocent than the other subs. And I can tell from the other Doms' expressions, they all know I haven't broken her yet. They're practically drooling to watch it happen, and the crowd following us to see what room I'm in grows larger.
I open the door to room seven, guide my pet inside, and shut the door. There's soft music playing, intentionally designed to help ease the transition into playtime.
Pride sweeps through me as I observe Blakely. She keeps her head bowed and hands folded. The only physical sign of her nerves is her thumb slightly tapping her hand. "You may look up and see your surroundings."
She slowly lifts her head, her eyes growing wider as she takes it all in.
I move my palm over her ass cheek, stroking it over the silk, trying to steady my heart from racing too fast. I've never been inside room seven, only observed others. Every Dom I know wants the assignment, yet few ever get it. And it's only used on nights like these.
It's like the board knew I needed this room for more reasons than one.
I study my pet as she takes in every inch of the medieval space. Even the mirror fits the decor. Worn, golden-brown hues start at the corners and eventually fade away. Cobblestone brick lines the floor and runs up a chimney. A real wood fireplace crackles, with logs stacked next to it. A wooden cage sits in the corner. Metal spikes are on the floor, ceiling, and bars, so the person inside can't move without getting poked. Heavy metal chains hang from the ceiling with thick cuffs attached to the ends. Tools hang on both sides of the fireplace, most of which I would never use on my pet. They're meant to draw blood, and I'm not into that type of sadism. Yet I'm not telling her that.
The heat from the fireplace contrasts with the cold room. Goose bumps pop out on Blakely's skin, but I assume it's more from nerves, especially since she's staring at the sharp blades.
I assess the space again, take off my shirt, then sit on an oversized chair. I demand, "Pet, turn and take off your dress. And don't forget the rules."
She swallows hard, faces me, and says, "Yes, Sir." She slowly removes her dress and holds it in her hand.
"Toss it on the ground."
She drops it and waits.
I curl my finger in the air. "Crawl."
Her head jerks backward. She utters, "Crawl?"
I scowl at her.
She takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Sir." She glances at the ceiling, then drops on all fours. She moves a foot on the cobblestone.
"Ass in the air, face closer to the ground," I demand.
She glares at me.
I add, "I expect to hear your gratitude."
She lets out a pissed-off breath and utters, "Thank you, Sir." She lowers her face and raises her ass.
