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I lean closer to her lips, and my mouth waters. She glances at it, and I assert, "You don't like giving up control, do you, pet?"
She clenches her jaw, then admits, "No, Sir."
My adrenaline kicks in. I tug her head back farther, taunting, "But you agreed to let me have it."
She fires daggers at me with her glare.
I trace her collar, demanding, "Tell me why you agreed to let me have it."
She whispers, "You know why."
"Sir," I remind her, then pinch her nipple.
She gasps, shuddering, her blue orbs widening.
I lean into her ear and pinch her again but don't release the pressure on her nipple. I murmur, "Is it all for your pussy? Or is there another reason?"
Her body trembles. Defiance grows on her expression, lighting up every deviant desire I have within me.
I demand, "I want an answer, pet."
She stays quiet, continuing to focus her glare on me.
I rise, sliding my hands under her armpits and moving her to her feet.
"What—"
"I will not tolerate your defiance."
"Riggs—"
"Who?" I bark.
"Sir!" she grits through her teeth.
I move her across the room until she's standing on a metal square, facing the mirror. There's one metal bar at shoulder height, longer than her arms stretch. I order, "Stretch out your arms."
She obeys.
I attach a brown cowhide strap around her biceps. Then I add the same ones to her wrists. I walk around and cross my arms, studying her.
A deep flush fills her cheeks, almost matching the color of her lip stain. Questions swirl in her blues, mixing with fear, a desire to resist my authority, and something I saw the day we were in the shower and I lost control. And her leash hangs between her breasts, twinkling from the glow of the fire.
I've never witnessed anything so majestic.
I remind myself there can be no mistakes tonight. She's naive to everything in my world. It's another part of her reality that's testing me, causing me to debate what route to take for her punishment.
There's a masochistic part of Blakely, something I've barely tapped into and want to explore. Her pain, while different from Aria's, runs just as deep. Yet my gut tells me Blakely's masochism doesn't exceed or even meet Aria's.
My pet needs mental pain, maybe more than physical. I've witnessed the clues. I know it well, more than most Doms could ever begin to understand. And I trust in my ability to deliver it to her.
"Why did you agree to let me have total control over you? To own you and do whatever I please?" I push.
The room continues to flicker from the fire, and the longer I debate, the more Blakely's expression changes. The fear begins to subside, morphing into an insubordinate stare.
I chuckle inside. Her reaction is predictable. My lips twitch, and I warn, "Last chance. Why did you hand over all the control of your body and mind?"
Her eyes turn to slits.
